


There's no such place

by pene



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pene/pseuds/pene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kurt lost the things he loved the most, he hid himself away from the world - until the night Blaine crashed into his life.</p><p>This is an AU. A snowbound cabin romance. And a story where Kurt and Blaine never met, until they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *There is some grieving in this story. Ask me if you need to know more.*
> 
> A month ago I emailed Corinna and said: I kind of want to write a snow bound cabin romance. The email finished: no need to write it as I just summarised it all.
> 
> But Corinna was tenacious and imaginatively thoughtful. There is so much of her in this story. And podklb lent me her ear for words and understood what I was saying before I did. The story would be nothing without them.
> 
> Posting schedule: Tuesday and Thursday (mornings US EST, close to midnight Aust Eastern Time).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special note that Corinna turned the article in this chapter into believable journalism. Because she is the finest.

Outside the cabin everything’s still, muted by the snow. It gets dark early up here in winter and you notice. 

Kurt turns on a reading lamp. Its light reflects from a framed picture on the coffee table - Lachlan squinting into the camera, his face half sunlit and half in shadow. Kurt should switch out the photo. Lachlan had hated that one.

“No. Oh no, babe. I’ve got crow’s feet!” he’d protested as he lifted it from its spot beside Kurt’s bed. “And I look short.” 

“It’s a headshot. Even you can’t look short in a headshot. And you’re 25,” Kurt said. “With an excellent skin care regime. Those are not crow’s feet.”

“It’s the harsh Australian climate,” said Lachlan. “All those summers at the beach killed my chances of supermodel stardom.”

“But left your ego intact. Lucky me,” Kurt smiled.

“It’s a pretty tough gig, living with someone as gorgeous as you. I reckon I need all the ego I can get.”

Kurt preened a little. Why wouldn’t he? Lachlan made his living among models and fashionistas. Lachlan grinned to see it and kissed him, laughing against his lips.

That wasn’t their last day in the cabin. But it was close to the end.

If Kurt had known, he’d have made those days extraordinary. Even now he’s not sure if his recollection is faithful - whether he’s made the sky a brighter blue above the gold and red of fall, if he’s forgotten a petty argument, remembered a kiss that never happened. If everything just seemed idyllic because it didn’t last forever. But then in Kurt’s experience not a lot lasts forever.

The last few moments he remembers are just ordinary. A conversation while Kurt stood between the open doors of the pantry and viewed the contents. Lachlan came in, banging the door and kicking off his shoes to pad barefoot across the timber floor. He wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist.

“Can you check the generator before we go in the morning, babe?”

Kurt had nodded absently. He wasn’t an expert on their generator back then of course, but he definitely had more of an idea than Lachlan.

Later they’d eaten in the cold on the deck - something Tuscan with cannellini and tomatoes. They were supposed to be the glamorous people - a blazing young fashion designer and a rising Broadway star. But they were just themselves out here, wrapped in jackets and scarves to enjoy a last long look at the hundreds of thousands of stars hanging just out of reach before heading home to their New York apartment, to careers and colleagues and friends and the public. They talked logistics, tangled their gloved fingers between their chairs. If Kurt had known, he’d have kissed Lachlan then, have kissed him earlier, he’d have dragged him to their loft bedroom and kissed him over and over sooner rather than later. If Kurt had known, he’d have committed every detail to memory.

Kurt shivers. He wraps his arms around himself and looks away from the photo. He’s been saying he’ll change it for years. One day he will. He picks up his tablet but doesn’t open it. After a moment he turns out the lamp and leaves the room in firelight. Most days its flickering glow makes things simpler. 

The cat approaches and leaps lightly into his lap, warm and comfortable. Outside everything is dark and quiet. He pushes his fingers into her fur and watches the stars make their interminable way across the sky.

**

 

Whatever happened to… Kurt Hummel  
 _by Corey Rinner  
Staff Writer_

Young actor/singer Kurt Hummel first caught our eye in Graeme Groundwater’s musical interpretation of _The Tempest_. His ethereal and petulant turn as Ariel nabbed him a Drama Desk nomination, and soon the NYADA student was everywhere. Inspired by Hummel’s grace and quick wit, Sara Means wrote _Mercury News_ with him in mind, and impresario Petr Domek helped rush it to the Broadway stage in a vote of confidence in them both.

With Means directing, _Mercury News_ opened at the Cort Theater a week after Hummel’s 23rd birthday. His performance as Merc - ancient fast-talking god and impassioned winged rent boy - won raves from the critics, and racked up nominations for the Drama Desk Award, the Outer Critics Circle Award, and the Tony. The show was a hit with audiences as well as critics, and the original Broadway cast recording sold briskly.

Doors were opening for this unusual young talent, with a vocal range spanning tenor and countertenor and a gift for making an emotional connection with the audience. But when he left the role a year into the show’s run, Hummel’s good fortune came to an end.

Petr Domek’s tragic death after a long battle with pancreatic cancer left Hummel finding new backers for his next project, an experimental collaboration with his close friend, Broadway darling Rachel Berry. Their show, Fortune’s Fool, never made it to opening night, and rumors spread that Hummel and Berry’s battles during production helped doom it as certainly as their funding woes.

But tragedy wasn’t done with Kurt Hummel. Early that November, Hummel and his new husband, Vietnamese Australian fashion designer Lachlan Meesang, were involved in a car crash caused by a drunk driver. Hummel, who had been driving, walked away with minor injuries. Meesang and the other driver were both killed instantly.

After the funeral, Santana Lopez, Hummel’s longtime agent, let it be known that he would be taking a break from his career and New York City. Nearly three years later, he has not returned.

**

The pile of firewood is genuinely running low, but Kurt sometimes suspects he’s chopping wood simply to fill the daylight hours. In summer there are things to do - fences to check, his few piano and language students to teach in town, neighbors’ generators and cars to fix. Now in the height of winter, everybody’s travel is limited by the weather. The days are shorter and lonelier. They stretch slowly into night.

In any case, the wood chopping gets him outside, keeps him warm, and is excellent cardiovascular and upper body exercise. Kurt might have given up New York City, but he hasn’t given up the things that make him confident in his skin. This log pile is what passes for a gym out here.

The first year in the cabin Kurt had looked at the logs in despair. But winter here without a log fire was unimaginable. He bought himself an axe. Chopping went slowly, left him with blisters and aching muscles and rising frustration with himself and with the circumstances that brought him here. Even with Lachlan. But like everything, like the solitude, chopping wood became habit. Now it’s second nature and he quickly finds a natural rhythm. 

Kurt rests his axe on the ground as a red and white pickup pulls in beside his shed. He smiles as a neighbor climbs out of the cab. 

“Hi, Rick.”

“Afternoon, Kurt. It’s gonna be a cold one,” Rick offers. “They’re expecting more snow.”

Kurt nods. “Hence the wood chopping,” he says.

Rick lives down the road, but then almost everywhere counts as “down the road” around here. He’s stocky and fair. His beard and plaid owe nothing to hipster sensibilities. 

“Katey said it might be a few days before we see the road again,” says Kurt. 

Rick scratches his beard. “Katey’s lived here longer than us. Could be she’s right.”

“Trouble with the truck?” asks Kurt. 

Rick opens the hood. He talks steadily about the snow season and the new stores opening up in Phoenicia and his daughter’s soccer team.

After a time, “The piston rings are worn,” says Kurt. “Your compression is low. I can get it sorted out for you but it’ll take some time.”

He wipes his hands on a cloth he’d draped over the wood pile earlier. Sometimes he still can’t believe he can do this. When his dad visits Kurt catches his surprise, and a hint of pride, too. Though mostly he looks sad. 

“What’ll it cost?”

“Just the cost of the parts. You and Aisling helped me out last year when my dad was sick. I owe you. You can keep on driving her until I get everything together.”

“Want some help with that wood pile?” asks Rick. It’s a short walk to the cabin where Kurt has wood stacked against the wall protected by the low eaves of the A-frame.

Kurt knows from experience that he’s more particular about stacking than Rick is. “Thank you, but you get home to your girls,” he says. 

Kurt waves lightly as Rick heads out again then grabs a bucket for the wood. The wind lifts, rattles through him. Up above, the sky darkens. There’s a storm coming. 

**

It’s late in the afternoon by the time Blaine leaves his Chelsea apartment. He’s spent much of the day discussing the trip and then discussing it again and packing then repacking, but despite all the conversation his fiance isn’t joining him. 

“Drive safe!” says Knox handing Blaine the car keys and wrapping his scarf around his neck. He kisses Blaine hard at the front door. “I want both you and our car back in one piece.”

“Love you,” says Blaine immediately.

Knox smiles. He’s tall and smart and handsome. Blaine loves being with him. “You too. Miss you already, sweetheart!” he says as Blaine leaves.

It’s the day before Christmas - Knox and Blaine’s second Christmas together and, as it turns out, their second apart. But it’s fine, really. Blaine’s parents will understand Knox’s last minute decision to stay in the city with his family rather than joining the Andersons in their newly purchased Phoenicia vacation home. Family and city life is important to Knox - the wilderness much less so. And it’s not like he hasn’t met the Andersons.

Blaine has been fortunate this past year - every year really. But this has been an eventful one. He finished up with school, he had a role in the revival of _Gypsy_ he found an agent and has had auditions and is part of a showcase the powerful socialite June Dolloway is putting together. He has friends in his corner - Dalton friends, NYADA friends. And he has Knox. They met in a coffee shop - best coffee in the city, Knox said. Knox knows all the best places in the city. He knows the right people to lift Blaine’s career to the next level. And he’s generous in sharing the knowledge. He’s the one who introduced Blaine to June. 

A year after Blaine and Knox had met, Knox proposed over dinner at Eleven Madison Park. He’d booked a private room, had ordered an incredible meal, had bought a ring. Blaine was stunned and happy as he answered, “Yes.”

In the car Blaine turns on the sound system. “Start playlist: winter road trip,” he says. 

“Playing: winter road trip,” says the car obediently.

A song starts. Pearl Jam. It’s one of Knox’s favorites. Blaine feels sort of lonely. He switches over to a Sinatra compilation.

The street lights are turning on in the city. Blaine switches on his headlights as he turns onto West 15th. There’s snow in the air. Blaine hadn’t expected to be driving a long way on a winter’s night when he bowed to Knox’s enthusiasm and agreed to buy the vintage Pontiac convertible. He hopes the snow holds off long enough to get to the Catskills.

**

Two and a half hours into the drive, Frank Sinatra is sounding more and more melancholy and Blaine is painfully aware that he’s made an error in judgment.

He is hopelessly lost. It’s snowing heavily. The wipers are barely keeping the windshield clear. The roads are white and the sky is black and the light from the headlights tapers out before him.

Blaine hasn’t spent a lot of time driving in the snow. There’s a steady kind of terror that makes him breathless but helps him keep going. He holds the car to a slow crawl. The last town was about twenty minutes back. He can’t tell if he should turn back. He keeps going and just hopes he’ll make it to Phoenicia before he’s buried in the blizzard.

Blaine fixes his eyes on the almost invisible road markers. He turns into a corner. There’s an eerie drifting as the tires slip and find nothing to give them traction. Blaine presses on the accelerator tentatively, trying to force the car to turn. He holds his breath. Everything slows down. Blaine and the car head inexorably off the road, crashing through branches and coming to a sudden, jolting stop in a snowdrift.

Blaine hits his head hard on the steering wheel.

Ol’ Blue Eyes stops crooning.

The headlights flicker then fade altogether.

Everything is dark. The silence and the cold seep into the interior of the car. Blaine’s breath fogs in the air. Nothing else moves save Blaine’s heart, beating hard in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> punk lent me her eyes alongside my glorious corinna and podklb

Sound travels well out here. Kurt hears the car long before it nears the cabin. On this road, this late and in this weather, the driver is almost certainly lost. They’re going slowly, but Kurt saw the road this afternoon. Even before the latest fall and night time freeze, he’d have avoided it. Kurt stands, letting the cat drop gently to the floor, and walks to the window. His heart thuds hard in his chest as he watches the car lose traction and veer sideways, and then pitch forwards. It heads down an incline, crashing through the new growth trees and into a snow bank. The headlights flicker. The engine dies. Then nothing.

“Fuck,” says Kurt. Fuck.

There’s nothing for it. Kurt grabs his jacket, gloves, and hat, pulls on his boots and heads out into the night.

It’s not far, but it’s snowing steadily and it’s hard to see, let alone walk through the white on white. The cold stings Kurt’s eyes and burns in his lungs. When he finally comes close enough to see the car, he is briefly furious. The car is ridiculous. A tiny, impractical, flame red vintage convertible. It doesn’t even have proper roof support. Whoever is inside is lucky it didn’t roll and crush them.

Kurt can just make out the driver, who is silhouetted through the window. He braces himself in the snow and pulls on the door to no avail. It’s stuck. He bends and scrapes away some snow with his gloved hands, scratching as it becomes more solid. He wishes he’d thought to bring a shovel. Even a heavy stick would help. He tries again and again, and finally wrenches the door open, nearly stumbling onto his back. He leans to look in. He has an impression of big eyes, of dark hair. The driver is alone and looks basically okay. At least he’s conscious.

“I couldn’t get the door open,” the guy manages, shakily. “I thought-”

“You’re out now. There was some snow around the door, that’s all. Are you hurt?” Kurt asks.

“Just my-” the guy touches his forehead tentatively. It’s dark with blood. Kurt steadies his breathing with difficulty. It’s this guy’s blood, a stranger’s blood. Everyone is okay.

“Can you walk?” Kurt knows he sounds testy. “We need to get out of here.”

“I think so. I don’t think anything’s broken. But the car-”

“Is a truly stupid vehicle to be driving in the snow. You don’t even have chains.”

“Oh.” The guy’s eyes widen. “Yeah. Sorry,” he says, and suddenly he seems impossibly young.

Kurt shakes his head. “Too late for that. You’ll have to come back to my place. We’ll sort out this mess by daylight. What’s your name?” The guy turns to slide his feet out of the car and place them in the snow. He slips a little. Kurt reaches to hold the guy’s arm.

“Blaine Anderson.”

“I’m Kurt.” He helps Blaine out of the car, then steps back to give him room. Blaine winces as he puts weight on his legs. He sways a little and Kurt reaches back to support his elbow.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Blaine nods resolutely. “How far are we going?”

“About a quarter of a mile. You have a jacket in there? A coat? Any cold weather gear?”

“My overnight bag is-“

Kurt glances swiftly at the snow which is tumbling heavily around them. The wind is lifting and the temperature dropping dangerously. Fear makes him harsher than he intends. “I’m not your Sherpa. I won’t be carting your luggage through a blizzard. Just a jacket. Maybe a hat or scarf so you don’t die of exposure before I get you home.”

Blaine blinks. “Yeah. Sorry that’s not- Yeah they’re in the back seat.”

“Okay stay here,” Kurt climbs half way into the driver’s seat and reaches to retrieve a fine woolen duffel coat and a red cashmere scarf. Not much use in this weather, but better than nothing.

He helps Blaine into his coat, hands him the scarf. After a second’s pause Kurt gives Blaine his own knit cap and pulls his jacket hood over his head more tightly.

They need to get indoors quickly. “Okay, Blaine. Let’s get moving.”

“Okay,” says Blaine. He looks around, dazed, looks at his car like he doesn’t know what to do.

“We’ll be fine,” says Kurt. “But we can’t stand still. Otherwise someone’ll find two icemen here five hundred years from now.”

Blaine nods and turns to follow.

On the walk home Blaine is largely silent. Now and then his feet slip and his breathing quickens. He’s obviously exhausted but he doesn’t complain. He’s stumbling by the time they reach Kurt’s cabin. He slips and lets out a tiny cry. Kurt waits for him, puts an arm around him to support him as much as he can, and they make it the last cold hundred yards.

Kurt left the cabin almost in darkness but the firelight is red and gold and welcoming. Even to Kurt, it is an enormous relief. He can’t imagine how it must feel to Blaine.

“Okay, inside,” he says. He waves to a chair beside the pot-bellied stove. “Sit.”

Kurt closes the door on the snow storm. He pauses fractionally with his hand against it. Its wood is weighty and reassuring. Kurt is no longer accustomed to having people in his space, but he can handle this.

When he turns back to the chair, Blaine is shivering helplessly. The gash in his head is bright with fresh blood. There’s no time for Kurt’s sensitivities.

“Okay,” Kurt says. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes first. And I have a medical kit.” Blaine nods. Kurt climbs into the loft and pulls out some yoga pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He hands them over and begins to turn away so Blaine can change. But Blaine rocks forward and almost topples as he gets to his feet. Kurt sighs and helps Blaine into the clothes, averting his eyes as much as possible and trying not to notice when his fingers brush against Blaine’s skin. He’s not blind though. Under Kurt’s too large clothing, Blaine is a gorgeous boy - compact and muscular and golden.

Kurt steps back quickly, looking away to reach for the medical kit.

“Do you need something to eat?” he asks.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could,” says Blaine. Kurt opens the medical kit and hands it to Blaine who takes it with shaky hands.

“I really am sorry, Kurt. About all of this trouble.”

“Sorry still isn’t getting us anywhere,” says Kurt brusquely. He can’t seem to help it. Here in the confines of the cabin, Blaine’s good manners make him uncomfortable.

He softens as Blaine blinks foggily at the contents of the first aid kit. “Sit down,” Kurt says. “It’s just a bump. Nothing life threatening. But you look like you’ll make a mess of it in the state you’re in. I’ll do it.”

Blaine sits and Kurt steps toward him, standing between his knees and leaning close to look at his forehead. Blaine looks up with wide bright eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” says Kurt, ostensibly to reassure Blaine. He takes a breath. “We’ll get you cleaned up. Then you can sleep.” He cleans the wound, presses a pad to it to stop the bleeding and tapes gauze over the top. He steps back and examines his work.

“That should be fine for the night. You can take the bed upstairs.”

“Thank you for this,” says Blaine, patting at the dressing. His voice cracks. “I can- I don’t want to put you out any further. I can sleep down here.”

“You can’t,” says Kurt. “You’re hurt and you’re exhausted. I’ll be fine on the couch.” When Blaine hesitates, Kurt stands him up, turns him bodily and supports him up the stairs.

From Kurt’s bed Blaine says a small “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done.” His eyes are huge, his head dark against Kurt’s pillow. “I’ll do what I can to pay you back.”

“It’s all right,” says Kurt. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He steps onto the top step. He hates to think what could have happened.

Downstairs, Kurt settles himself in his chair. It’s a piece he’s had for years and is innately comforting. The cat reappears from under the table and settles in his lap. He listens to her breathing, to Blaine’s breathing. There’s a stranger in the loft. In his bed. Kurt presses his hand against the cat’s chest and feels her heart beating. He wraps himself in a throw and stays sitting, keeping an eye on the fire burning in the stove.

**

Blaine blinks open his eyes to morning and a steeply pitched wooden ceiling. There’s a window set low along one side of the bed. It’s fogged up but light pours through to color the beams above him.

He curls into the bed’s warmth for a sleepy moment, letting his mind catch up. The dressing on his head is still in place. He sits up, shifts around to check that all his limbs are in working order. He stretches.

The night before is slightly hazy. He recalls foolishly driving into a snowdrift and then, though this part might be a dream, he recalls some kind of divine being in a fur-trimmed hood rescuing him. Not only that, but if it’s not all a dream he’s in the divine being’s bed, wearing the divine being’s too-big clothes. Blaine pushes the sleeves up as he steps gingerly onto the cold floor. He feels surprisingly stable.

He walks down the stairs in socked feet.

Kurt is curled on a chair, partially covered by a rug and a genuinely scary looking grey cat. The cat blinks its one yellow eye at Blaine. It might be trying to hypnotize him. Blaine tears his gaze away to look at his rescuer. Kurt’s asleep. He’s not so daunting in this state. His face is pillowed sweetly on his shoulder. In the clear morning light he’s as lovely as Blaine remembered him, pale and sad, with perfect bone structure and long folded limbs.

Blaine pads past and looks out the window to the bright light and the deep, deep snow. The air fogs with his breath.

“We’re not going to be moving your car today,” comes Kurt’s voice from behind him. Blaine turns to see Kurt stretching as he stands from the chair. The gray cat tumbles to the ground relatively gracefully. Kurt picks up the rug and wraps it around himself. 

“No,” says Blaine. “But I should be able to get someone to pick me up. If - where are we?”

“They’re not going to get to this road today, I’m afraid. Not even close. Unless your ‘someone’ has a snow plow I think you might be stuck with me and Steve here for Christmas.”

And that’s right, it’s Christmas Day.

“Steve?”

“Her name’s Stephen. But she prefers Steve. Or Pretty Kitty.” Steve winks balefully. She is not pretty. Blaine would know, he’s looking at Kurt, who is the prettiest thing he has ever seen. He shakes his head a little to clear it.

“Merry Christmas,” he says belatedly.

Kurt looks down, unexpectedly shy. “Thank you. And same to you.” He takes a breath. “So I need to make a call. But do you want to use my phone first? Someone’s probably worried about you.”

Blaine blinks. “Oh. Oh god, my parents. I was supposed to arrive last night.”

Kurt holds out a phone and raises his eyebrows.

Blaine thinks for a frazzled moment. He doesn’t know their cell numbers. Not by heart. Eventually he calls his dad’s office. The phone line is switched through to his dad’s cell.

His mother answers.

“For heaven’s sake, Blaine, where are you? We’ve hardly slept. Your father has paced a hole in the floor. I was about to call the police.”

“I’m so sorry, mom. There was an accident.” Blaine explains the situation. “This guy up on the mountain rescued me and he’s letting me stay at his place.”

“I see. Please be sure to tell him that we’re very grateful,” says Blaine’s mom. “And we’ll reimburse him for any costs. Of course. And his time.”

His father takes the phone. “Blaine. Are you okay?”

“Yes, just a cut where I hit my head but it’s fine. Nothing much.”

“I hope you didn’t sleep with a concussion.”

“I think that’s a myth, dad.”

There’s a pause and his father says, “Just be careful Blaine. I’m glad you’re safe but I’m sorry that you have to spend your Christmas trapped with some old guy on the mountain.”

“It really isn’t like that,” says Blaine faintly. He’s watching Kurt lean to stoke the fire. It’s a graceful movement. Blaine swallows as he hangs up. So this is Christmas. Alone in a cabin with a stranger he’s undeniably attracted to.

The fire is crackling when Blaine gives Kurt the phone. He tries not to listen in beyond Kurt’s quiet, “Hey, Dad. Merry Christmas.”

When Kurt finishes the call he steps into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “I have a ham I was going to glaze with maple and honey. And there are herbs in the fridge and some vegetables. I was thinking sweet potato and then broccoli with hazelnuts. And if you’re interested, somewhere in the freezer I have the makings of a very fine blueberry pie.”

He closes the fridge door. Blaine stares at Kurt, slightly speechless.

“Just because I live here, doesn’t make me uncivilized,” says Kurt crisply, which wasn’t what Blaine was thinking at all.

“It just sounds incredible.”

Kurt smiles then. Blaine would gladly make him smile all day.

“Can I help cook?” Blaine asks.

Kurt stills for a moment, his face tense and his eyes . “Okay,” he says. “Okay. We can do that.” He sounds like he’s talking himself into it.

**

It’s mostly just extraordinarily painful, having someone moving about his house. Someone who slept here, in his bed. Who will be here tonight and tomorrow night, by the looks of the weather. It prickles like a numb limb beginning to move.

And that someone is Blaine. Even to Kurt he seems to be just sunshine and brightness. He’s effortlessly polite. He sings pop songs while he makes tea, tossing in dance steps as he moves about the kitchen. His eyes catch the light which pours in the window. He’s beautiful.

It’s sweet, and it’s ridiculous and it’s mostly just extraordinarily painful. The room feels fogged in, feels claustrophobic but also like it’s just waking up.

Blaine hands Kurt a mug and sits across from him on the couch. As he sits the cat steps traitorously into his lap and curls her body there. She eyes Kurt with self-satisfaction. Blaine pets her then lets his fingers rest briefly on the picture of Lachlan. He doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t even seem to be deliberate.

Kurt’s voice escapes almost involuntarily. “He’s- He was my husband. In the picture. His name was Lachlan. He died -uh- just over three years ago.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “God, I am so- I didn’t mean to pry. I am so sorry Kurt.” He stretches out a hand but doesn’t touch Kurt. It hangs between them until he drops it to his lap.

He’s beautiful and so very sincere.

They sit in uncomfortable silence, then, “You’re Kurt Hummel,” says Blaine.

“Yes,” says Kurt unhappily.

Blaine explains, “I was at NYADA. They were- everyone was so sad. About Lachlan. He was a designer, right? They said he was amazing. And you. You were both extraordinary.” And of course, of fucking course Blaine is a performer, Blaine was at NYADA, Blaine knows every guilty, painful, life destroying detail.

In the early days, when he only ever woke to fresh grief, Kurt felt that everyone looked at him and knew what had happened. Among the theater and fashion people of New York he could never escape.

He moved to the cabin. The place was full of Lachlan, but it was free from the uncertain glances of friends and strangers.

“Okay,” says Kurt. He puts his mug down. “Enough. We need to get the food on. And once everything is in the oven we can take a shovel to your car. We can’t get it out, but we might be able to get your luggage.”

Blaine stands quickly. “Of course, yes. Put me to work, Chef.”

Kurt appreciates Blaine’s attempt at ease and tries a smile. “Hungry? Or just eager to get into some clothes that fit you?”

Blaine laughs carefully and flaps his hands in their too long sleeves. “A bit of both,” he says. “Show me what you want me to do.”

Kurt pulls out the broccoli and the sweet potatoes, which come from Jenny’s garden down the road. He exchanged them for fixing her range hood. He unwraps the ham.

When they’re side by side at the bench Kurt says, “So Blaine Anderson. You were at NYADA. What track were you on?”

“Musical theater and performance,” says Blaine.

“That’s what I did,” says Kurt. “Probably not much overlap with the teachers though.”

“I don’t know about that,” says Blaine. “A lot of people spoke highly of you.”

Kurt flushes. They spend some time comparing classwork and professors and extra-curriculars while Kurt scores the ham, inserts cloves and places the it all in a baking dish.

“I wish I’d seen you in _Mercury News_ ,” says Blaine. “Your reviews were wonderful,” and in the warm kitchen Kurt feels a swell of something heavy and happy and confusing.

Blaine’s cutting sweet potatoes into wonderfully uniform chunks when he suddenly says, “Knox!”

“What?” says Kurt stupidly.

“Knox. He’s - God, he’s my fiancé. I - I need to call him.”

And there it is. Of course Blaine has a fiancé.

But it’s fine, of course it’s fine. It’s not as if Kurt thought about anything beyond getting through a cold holiday weekend in an unexpectedly crowded cabin.

“Use my phone,” he says and hands it over, making sure he smiles.

**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Blaine steps away from Kurt and leans in the window to telephone Knox. He looks through the glass to the tree line. As he dials his stomach twists with a kind of undirected nervousness.

He’s not sure what he expects, but the phone call is weirdly subdued. Of course, Knox hadn’t had a reason to worry. As far as he was aware Blaine was safely opening gifts with his family in their cosy four bedroom house, not almost buried in a blizzard, rescued by a mysterious stranger, and then trapped with him in his perfect little A-frame cabin.

Knox’s voice is clear on the line. “I can’t believe you came off the road, Blaine. You weren’t going too fast, were you? The roads can be-”

“No. Of course not. Nothing like that,” says Blaine. “Kurt tells me the roads are terrible this Christmas. I just- I guess it’s my fault. I should have left earlier so I wasn’t driving so late.”

“Kurt, huh? So, that’s the guy who saved my fiancé? I definitely owe him a drink. What’s he like?”

Blaine’s mind is blank. “He’s- He’s a NYADA alum, unexpectedly. Kurt Hummel. He’s a few years older than me. I’d heard of him.” He stops, knowing Kurt is listening.

“Sounds good, babe. Small world. You guys can talk shop. Anyway thanks for the tie pin,” says Knox. “It’s perfect. You’re very good to me. Did you get your gift? I put it in your bag.”

“No, I haven’t been able to get any of my things out of the car.” He’s not sure Knox understands. “It’s buried in the snow. We’re going to have to dig it out.”

“Right, well don’t leave it too long. The car might rust or—-.”

Blaine says, “I could have died out there.”

“I know, baby, I know. But you said you’re almost all healed up so I don’t want to worry about you. You know I’m glad that you’re okay. I’ll show you just how glad when you get home.”

“Okay,” says Blaine. He suspects he is being ungenerous.

“Anyway, baby. Say thank you to Kurt for me? I’ll call around about the right mechanic after Christmas.”

Blaine feels guilty and confused. He’s spent more than twelve hours in a stranger’s house and he didn’t think of Knox once.

“Love you,” he says reflexively before they hang up.

Kurt glances up from making the lattice work of a pie. He shifts his weight away as Blaine places his phone on the bench near him.

“Can I help?” Blaine asks.

Kurt is brusque. “No. No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”

For a moment Blaine thinks the connection with Kurt has dissolved too. He feels untethered, here with a stranger in the middle of snowy nowhere. He sits himself carefully on the edge of the couch and tries not to watch Kurt in the kitchen. Eventually Kurt looks up. He runs a hand through his hair and then nods to a jacket he’s draped over one of the chairs.

“Let’s go see if we can get your things,” he says. “You can wear that jacket. It’s a bit more suitable for the conditions than your coat, though it doesn’t have quite the same elegance.”

“It’s Burberry,” says Blaine.

“I know,” says Kurt. “I’ve kept up with the collections a little. It was one of my favorites from that Fall. You have admirable taste.” Blaine blushes at the compliment. “Are you ready to face the elements?” asks Kurt.

“Let’s do it,” says Blaine.

Outside the sun is bright and crisp on the snow. Kurt’s cheeks are pink and his eyes clear blue against all the white. Blaine’s spirits lift as they walk. Nothing can touch him here. He laughs as his feet slip. He’s generally comfortable in his skin, comfortable in New York and on the stage, but in the snow next to Kurt he feels clumsy. Kurt has clearly made this place his home.

Blaine watches Kurt and tries not to think about the way his head is full, the way his stomach twists when their eyes meet. His world has shifted, and it happened without any warning.

“Will it melt today?” Blaine asks.

“I shouldn’t think so. And there’s snow forecast for tonight too. But as long as the plow makes it you should be home to your fiancé in a couple of days.”

Blaine nods. It’s too soon, far too soon to think that he never wants to go back to the real world.

Between them they make quick work of digging their way into Blaine’s trunk. There’s something steadying in doing work side by side. They open the trunk together. Blaine smiles widely as he pulls out his overnight bag. It’s as though they’ve found buried treasure.

As they walk back a clump of snow drops from a branch onto Kurt’s hair. His blinking astonishment makes Blaine giggle. He covers his mouth and looks away to hide it, eager to maintain the rapport that sits tentatively between them. So he’s not looking when Kurt turns toward him and plants a fistful of snow in his hair. Kurt cocks his head and strolls away but when Blaine shakes his head like a dog he hears Kurt’s bright laughter carried back to him. Blaine leans to fill his hands with snow and leaps after Kurt.

They tramp back through the trees, laughing and breathless. Blaine’s full to bursting with the to and fro between them, the way they switch from far away to so breathtakingly close.

As they open the cabin door they are swamped by the aroma of food. Kurt checks on the oven quickly, waving Blaine away.

There’s an upright piano against one window. The sunlight from outside strikes the wood at an angle and lights the tiny specks of dust spiraling in the air. Blaine opens it up, toys with the keys. It’s in tune.

“Do you mind if I play?” he asks.

Kurt’s looks over then nods briefly. “Go ahead,” he says.

There’s too much feeling coursing inside. Blaine’s always loved singing, but he’s never felt like he needed it more. He hasn’t played this song before but his fingers find the notes instinctively. It’s as though the song chooses him.

 _I’m not the sort of person who falls in then quickly out of love_  
But to you I gave my affection right from the start.  
I have a lover who loves me, how can I break such a heart,  
And still you gained my attention right from the start.

Blaine looks up from the piano. Across the room Kurt is completely still. Blaine watches Kurt as he lets the song finish.

__

Are you so strong or is all the weakness in me.

The notes fade and Kurt turns back to the food. He wipes at his cheek unconsciously.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks. He feels sort of stupid. It’s all very well for him to just play, make believe it wasn’t a choice. 

“Yes. I just need to check on something outside. It’s going to be a cold night.” Kurt turns to the door. As he opens it and leans to tie his boots, he is silhouetted against the snow.

After he leaves Blaine sits on the piano stool for a time. Then he takes a deep breath and follows.

Beside the shed, Kurt is chopping wood in his shirt sleeves, wielding an axe with conviction. Blaine stands back and watches.

“Did he sing?” Blaine asks.

Kurt stops still. For a long moment he says nothing. “Lachlan?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Or at least, he didn’t sing well.” Kurt smiles a little at some far away memory Blaine doesn’t share. He has a whole history Blaine knows nothing about. Blaine steps closer as Kurt goes on. “It’s just. It’s complicated. I used to sing a lot. It’s not a part of my life any more. Not- never here in the cabin anyway.”

"I’m more than sorry," says Blaine though he has no real idea whether he’s apologizing for singing or sympathizing with this lovely, isolated boy who has put aside too much of his life.

"I could have said no, Blaine. I wanted to hear you. And that song? It was amazing.”

“You liked it?” says Blaine.

Kurt’s eyes are on Blaine as he speaks. “Blaine, you must know how talented you are.” Blaine is warmed by his gaze, though not enough to disguise the fact that it’s winter in the mountains and there’s a wind that cuts straight through him.

“Come back inside,” he says. “Please, Kurt. We already have enough firewood.”

Kurt considers, then shrugs a little. “Okay,” he says. He swings the axe one more time and leaves its head buried in the stump.

Inside they are suddenly too close. Blaine is too aware of Kurt, too aware of what Blaine would do if Kurt leaned closer and asked the question that thuds in Blaine’s blood. Instead he gives Kurt some space. “I think I’ll change if you don’t mind. I’ve got my own clothes now, I might as well make use of them.” He heads toward the stairs.

Kurt looks at him swiftly across the room. “Oh! I wonder- We could dress. You know, dress for dinner. After all, it is Christmas.” There’s this appealing enthusiasm under his stillness.

“We really could,” says Blaine. “I love the idea.” He finds himself smiling. Whatever else, it delights him how quickly he’s been able to know this man. Kurt, too, looks surprised and pleased as he turns away into the kitchen. Blaine wonders what he was like before everything came apart.

Blaine showers then changes up in the loft, smoothing out his shirt on the bed. He pulls on some fitted plaid pants in several shades of blue. His shirt is a perfect complementary navy. He finds a yellow bow tie he brought for color and puts them all together happily with tan leather loafers. He gels his hair.

When he comes downstairs Kurt’s eyes rest on him. Blaine spreads his hands out and does a little twirl. Kurt’s eyes flick away then back to Blaine. There’s a weight to the look.

“Hmm. Okay. My turn,” Kurt says with a lift of his chin, and vanishes up the stairs into the loft.

When he comes down he looks pulled together and gorgeous in skinny bone pants and a sky blue shirt patterned with clouds and hot air balloons. His boots are laced over his calves. There’s a challenge in his eyes. Blaine looks at him and for a moment there isn’t enough air in the whole world.

Kurt smiles and tilts his head. “Dinner’s ready now. Do you want to serve the sides?” he asks sweetly. “I’ll carve the ham.”

They sit at the tiny dining table to eat and discuss what Blaine’s Christmas plans would have been had he been less of an idiot, and when the car might be freed from its icy prison.

“Your fiancé. Knox,” says Kurt. “He wasn’t coming with you?”

“No, he has family in New York and- it just didn’t work out.”

“I can understand that,” says Kurt. “Everyone knows it’s hard to split holidays. What’s he like?”

“He’s - uh- he’s a financier at JP Morgan Chase.” Blaine doesn’t want to talk about Knox. Not here in this room where he’s really being seen, where he feels worth seeing, where all he can think about is Kurt. “He introduced me to June Dolloway. She’s a patron of the arts. She’s putting together a showcase introducing me and two other new voices. It’s an incredible opportunity.”

“June Dolloway,” says Kurt. “I met her once. She’s an amazing lady. She wasn’t struck by me though.”

Blaine snorts disbelievingly. It’s impossible to look at Kurt and not be struck.

Kurt smiles a little and goes on, “That’s quite a coup. Congratulations, I’m impressed. Do you have your setlist planned?”

“We’re working on it. I’m thinking some Tom Jones. Maybe some pop, you know, Katy Perry or someone less well known like Great Big World.”

“How are you on old Broadway?” asks Kurt, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You have the charisma for it. Or something very debonair - Dean Martin or Sinatra.”

Blaine laughs happily. “I was listening to Sinatra on my ill-fated drive up. I came off the road to ‘Under My Skin.’” He reaches for more ham and meets Kurt’s eyes. “Though I’m starting to think the song won’t have any negative associations.” He didn’t quite mean to say what he’s said. He flushes.

Kurt’s cheeks are pink too. He looks at the table, reaches for the sauce boat as though he wants something to occupy his hands.

“More?” he asks politely, passing the orange mustard glaze to Blaine. But their fingers touch and the sauce boat clatters in the dish. Blaine holds his breath as their eyes meet again. Eventually Kurt places the dish on the table.

They’re in this tiny bubble, just the two of them. They’re trapped in the snow but they’re warm and full of food and wine. Every moment feels like it could go on forever. And the same moment feels like it’s already the end of the story. 

Later over pie, Kurt says, “This was the one big thing we bought together, this place.”

“Lachlan and you?” says Blaine gently.

“Lachlan and me. We had this life. I was doing everything I ever wanted. And he, well, you should have seen his designs. They were stunning. Most of them. Some were just weird.” Kurt laughs a little. “He- I believed he was going to be renowned. We both were. And this place was supposed to be our escape, a place where it could be just us and nature. I was pretty dubious at first. I’ve dreamed of New York City since I learned to spell. This mountain, this cabin isn’t anything I ever looked for in my life. But he was willing to stick with New York long term. He learned to love it. And I was learning to love it here.”

Blaine nods. “I can see why. It’s incredibly beautiful. Do you have any of Lachlan’s designs?” Blaine asks. “I’d love to look at them.”

“No. I couldn’t really- -I couldn’t take anything. I was driving the car when Lachlan died. How could I take anything else from his family and friends?”

“You were his family,” says Blaine. “And it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t take anything.”

Kurt nods a little, like he’s heard it before. “I know,” he says. “I do know. It wasn’t my fault.”

Blaine waits until Kurt’s eyes meet his again. He reaches across the table and covers Kurt’s hand with his own. They sit in silence while the snow tumbles steadily outside and the wind rolls over the gables to dive off the mountain.

Eventually Kurt draws his hand back. “We’d better clear away,” he says. “You can dry.”

**

In the kitchen, Blaine’s help is remarkably unintrusive. Of course, Kurt probably wouldn’t have cooked as many dishes if it had just been him. But cleaning up is easier with two people. And somehow with Blaine it’s like they have always moved in the same spaces. There’s no need to check Blaine’s movement, to send him to the other side of the kitchen bench. They shift easily past one another as though they were made to work together. When Kurt’s hand rests on the dip in Blaine’s back to keep him still for a moment, it feels natural.

After everything’s done, Kurt pours another two glasses of red and sits on the couch, stretching his feet out toward the fireplace. Blaine follows suit. He’s adorable, with his huge hazel eyes, bright grin, even with the bruise fading on his forehead. His legs are only just able to reach the ottoman. Kurt leans to move it closer to the couch. His fingers touch Blaine’s bare ankle, brush and feel the bone under the skin. Kurt almost wants to leave a hand there, thumb tracing Blaine’s ankle bone. Blaine is so alive.

He contemplates his wine instead.

Blaine says, “I didn’t mean to listen in, but you called your dad earlier. Does he live far?”

“Pretty far. He’s back in Ohio. It’s a small town. Lima, Ohio.”

“Lima!” Blaine looks more excited than the town really warrants. “I can’t believe it. I boarded at Dalton Academy right there in Westerville. We were practically neighbors.” Kurt remembers the polite boys in blazers well.

“You’re a long way from home,” he says.

“My parents live in New York. Westchester. But dad was a Dalton man so when- so he sent me there.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Nice school,” he says. “My dad was more of a McKinley High man. He’s great. The greatest. He’s an auto mechanic back in Lima.”

“And your mom?”

Kurt brings his glass to his lips. “She died a long time ago. It was just my dad and me for a long time.”

“You miss him,” says Blaine softly.

“And her too. But yes. Yeah. I miss him a lot. He’s happy though, it’s not like I’m just leaving him all alone. He has my stepmom and my brother. My brother has three little girls. They’re all spending Christmas together.”

Blaine pauses. His voice is tentative. “You don’t wish you were there with them?”

Kurt’s had three glasses of wine and his defenses are down. He says, “I don’t want to bring them all down. Christmas is about little kids and Santa Claus, not some guy who used to be happy.” It sits heavy in the space between them. Kurt wishes it unsaid.

But Blaine’s all sweetness when he says, with certainty, “I think they’d want you there.”

He leans back on the couch and turns his head to the side to look at Kurt. “I wish you could be happy. Not- I don’t mean that you need to be anything different from what you are. I just. I’d love to see you happy. You’re extraordinary and it makes me angry that the world had to take anything from you.”

Kurt frowns but he knows what Blaine means. “Okay. Thank you,” he says. They look at one another for a long time.

Kurt’s blinks slowly. His eyes feel sandy. Blaine’s face is overly bright and exhausted.

“Bedtime?” Kurt asks.

“Definitely,” says Blaine and then hastily, “I can sleep down here.”

“It’s not the easiest place to sleep,” Kurt admits. “And it stays warmer up in the loft once the fire dies.”

Blaine looks at him.

“In any case, Steve might keep you awake. She tends to prowl a bit overnight. The loft has a big bed. I think we can manage to share,” says Kurt. He starts upstairs. After a moment Blaine follows him.

They undress with their backs carefully turned. Kurt pulls on pajamas and climbs under the comforter. The bed dips as Blaine climbs in. Kurt switches out the lights. Neither of them say anything.

It’s achingly horribly familiar, having another person lying there, so close in the dark. Kurt can feel the warmth emanating from Blaine’s body. Kurt rolls to one side and looks out the window, though there’s nothing to see outside but blackness. He closes his eyes. After a time he sleeps.


	4. Chapter 4

In the early morning, Kurt wakes with his arm wrapped around a body that’s curled softly into him. The light is grey and clear and the day is silent. For an unthinking moment, Kurt shifts closer, holds more tightly. He breathes against another warm human. Then everything comes back in a rush. Kurt stills.

Blaine’s body is curved against his chest. Kurt tries to slide out from under him. He holds his breath as he moves. Blaine stirs sleepily and opens his eyes. He blinks at Kurt, his face too close, his breath warm. Then his eyes widen.

“Sorry,” they both say at once. Blaine lets out a puff of breath. 

Kurt moves him arm from under Blaine. “I didn’t mean- just old muscle memory, I think.” Though the truth is that Blaine smells completely different than Lachlan and Kurt would already recognize either of them anywhere. It’s not just muscle memory.

They both shift back a little. 

Blaine’s voice is sleep rough when he says, “You’re fine, Kurt. I’m sorry too. I tend to be cuddly, especially when it’s chilly.” He curls up again on his side, but further from Kurt. He looks across the bed between them. His eyes are bright and warm. When his toes brush against Kurt’s ankle between the sheets, Kurt doesn’t shift away.

**

When Kurt wakes again later, Blaine is already up. Kurt blinks at the empty space. It’s probably a good thing. 

Kurt heads downstairs in his pajamas. Blaine is in the kitchen, dressed. He has the kettle on and he’s looking through the pantry. Kurt’s first instinct is to send him out, wrest the room back. The kitchen, the whole cabin, is Kurt’s. 

But then Blaine looks up with a smile and Kurt is sort of okay with this. “I was thinking I could make us pancakes,” Blaine says.

Kurt smiles back. “I won’t say no. That sounds delicious. What can I do?”

“Nothing. Sit down, Kurt. Let me do this. It’s the least I can manage after all you’ve done for me.”

Kurt sits at the kitchen bench with coffee and watches Blaine in his kitchen. When Blaine starts singing, Kurt laughs into his mug. Then he joins in.

Pretty pretty please don’t you ever ever feel that you’re less than fuckin’ perfect.

Blaine grins at Kurt, turning away from the hot frying pan as he sings. When he turns back he inadvertently plants his hand on the rim of the pan. 

He gasps. Kurt is right there, instinctively, turning off the heat, taking Blaine’s hand and running it under cold water. 

“I’m okay, Kurt,” says Blaine breathlessly. He’s right there in Kurt’s space. So very close. His eyes are sparking and his pupils wide. “It didn’t hurt much.” He laughs nervously. “Though I am feeling like a bit of a klutz around you. All I do is injure myself.”

“Oh,” says Kurt. “No.” He still has Blaine’s hand clutched in his own. He can’t step away. 

When they come together it’s like it’s been orchestrated. Kurt’s lips against Blaine’s, Blaine’s against Kurt’s. 

Kurt feels like his whole self moans with the relief and pleasure of it. Blaine tilts his head and opens his mouth, lets Kurt’s tongue trace inside. His hand moves to Kurt’s neck, his thumb wrapping under Kurt’s jaw. Kurt steps closer to Blaine. His body is pressed against Blaine’s, one hand tangled with Blaine’s on the bench top. He wraps an arm around Blaine’s neck. Blaine drops his head back and lifts himself onto his toes to kiss Kurt more deeply. 

“God,” says Kurt. His head is spinning. He thinks he should step back but Blaine’s hips stutter forward, thrust against Kurt, and it touches every nerve ending. 

Kurt knows there’s no way he can keep this boy and all his sunshine here forever. This is all the time there is. And Kurt refuses to give up a single second of it.

He kisses Blaine again. “I want to take you to bed,” he says. 

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment and Kurt thinks it’s the end of it all before they even started. When Blaine opens them he looks directly at Kurt. 

“Yes,” he says as though it’s torn out of him. “Goddamn. Yes, Kurt. Yes.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand and draws him upstairs. 

In the loft, Kurt slips Blaine’s shirt over his head in silence, letting his fingers trace over Blaine’s stomach and chest. The room’s dimly lit, all the light coming up from downstairs. The angled roof feels close. Kurt pushes Blaine gently back onto the bed and kneels beside him. 

There are words caught up in the back of his throat. All the ways that Blaine is beautiful and all the ways that it is horrifying to have him here. All the ways Kurt is being changed by his presence. He can’t speak them. Instead he lets himself touch. He kisses Blaine’s dark eyelashes as they flutter above his cheekbones. He tongues over Blaine’s chest. He lifts his head to breathe against Blaine’s collarbone as his fingers trace Blaine’s shoulders and run down his arms. There is nothing here that is not lovely. There is no way that he doesn’t want more.

Blaine gasps as Kurt’s hand moves lower to unzip his pants. Kurt opens Blaine’s fly, presses one hand in to cup Blaine, to feel how hard and thick Blaine is under his briefs. Blaine’s cock twitches. They both groan at the contact. 

Kurt’s messenger bag is at the foot of the bed. He reaches in to find a condom and lube. The rare times he’s found an outlet at the Bearpen, the local Catskills gay bar, he has kept things distant and has been very specific in his needs. But now, in his bed, in his cabin, with his hand on this boy’s cock, he remembers how it feels to want more than an outlet. He lies on his side and kisses Blaine slowly, lets one leg drop in between Blaine’s spread thighs. He arches his body and presses himself against Blaine’s hip while his hand strokes Blaine’s cock. It aches inside. His body is begging for this. 

He closes his eyes. He is ready to give everything to this boy he doesn’t even know. It is terrifying. 

When he opens his eyes again Blaine is right there looking back - he’s so close and so gorgeous. He’s irresistible. He reaches to unbutton Kurt’s pajama shirt as Kurt bends a little and tries to pull Blaine’s pants over his hips. It only serves to tangle their arms. After a moment Blaine huffs out a laugh, breaking the silence. 

Kurt’s tension eases with it. He laughs too. “I just can’t get you out of your clothes quickly enough,” he says, feeling the words fall out of him. He can’t stop them. “I want you, now, all the way inside me.” 

Blaine’s fingers hold still where they are on Kurt’s buttons.

“Is that okay?” asks Kurt. 

Blaine is breathless with want. It sings in Kurt’s blood. “Absolutely. Yes.”

Kurt takes off his pajamas and lies back while Blaine wriggles out of his pants. He almost giggles with how cute Blaine is, but then Blaine‘s body is there over him, naked and stunning and strong and not actually cute at all. He leans in and runs a hand up the sensitive skin of Kurt’s inner thigh. His thumb brushes at the crease between thigh and groin. He runs his hand along the shaft of Kurt’s cock. Kurt shivers, every nerve caught up in Blaine and what feels like years of anticipation. 

Blaine opens the lube, pushes Kurt’s legs apart and runs his fingers into Kurt’s crack and over his hole.

Kurt lets out a trembling breath. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” he breathes. “A very long time.” He doesn’t want to stop but he’s not sure he knows how to be like this with someone any more. 

“Okay,” Blaine murmurs, looking down. In the low light his eyes are black. It’s strange and new and familiar all at once. 

Then Blaine gently pushes a finger inside Kurt and all Kurt’s thinking comes to a shuddering halt. His moan shakes him deep in his chest. 

Blaine smiles, “How does that feel?” he asks. 

He obviously doesn’t expect a coherent answer as he pushes a second finger in. He moves inside, flexing his fingers, and Kurt feels him everywhere. Kurt spreads his legs further, unashamed at the need, and tilts his ass off the bed. He bites his lower lip to stop himself begging. He can’t stop the long low noise in his throat. 

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes with almost reverence and twists his fingers, spreading them and pushing another one inside Kurt as though all he wants is to stretch his body open, wider and wider until he’s keening to be filled. He pumps his fingers there and Kurt gasps into it, lifts his head and drops it back onto the bed, holding himself together. 

When Blaine removes his fingers and lifts to hold himself over Kurt, Kurt’s body is crying out, just aching for more. He keeps all the words inside and lets his body do the speaking, lifting his knees and spreading himself wide. 

Blaine lines himself up and drives his cock smoothly into Kurt, slow and inexorable. Kurt feels his body yield and yield. He shuts his eyes, the pleasure of it all screaming inside. Then Blaine holds still, bottomed out, his whole shaft inside Kurt. After a moment that is all sensation, Kurt opens his eyes and Blaine is right there, sharing his space and air and skin. There’s no end to Kurt that isn’t Blaine. Their eyes meet and hold. Kurt is crumbling and this perfect stranger can see all the way inside. 

It’s too much. Kurt hitches his hips, a tiny plea for more and fucking and now. Blaine begins to shove infinitesimally inside him, his hips lifting up and thrusting down and down, his eyes wide and fixed on Kurt. Kurt wants this to last, wants to hold on to this moment and stretch it out forever, but he is also reaching for something. He’s longing for all his nerves to light up together and shatter inside him, make him forget the brevity of this, forget his aching heart. Blaine thrusts, grunting low with the effort over and over and over. They are moving together, as close as breath and as huge as the sky. Kurt wants to cry out with the pleasure of it. 

Blaine comes, jerking into Kurt and moaning his name. He drops his body onto Kurt’s. He is pliant and beautiful, still moving but slowly, reaching for Kurt’s cock to take Kurt over the edge with him. Beneath him Kurt shudders and falls apart, biting down, his teeth pressed hard into Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine’s breath comes in sobs against Kurt’s neck as Kurt wraps both arms around him. Everything is too much and never ever enough. 

There’s nothing that is fair about this.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine’s keeping count. He has about twenty-four hours until the roads up here will be open. That’s something like eighty thousand seconds, but twenty of those seconds are gone before Blaine can even do the math. It’s not long.

And then…

Blaine can’t really work out what will happen then. Just considering the options makes his heart want to curl into itself.

So for now he lets this be the whole of the world. He closes his mind to anything beyond these short hours, beyond the cabin walls and the mountains rising outside. And Kurt.

Kurt is under his skin and everywhere he looks. When they climbed out of bed, messy with sex, he expected Kurt to square his shoulders and put some distance between them. Instead, Kurt lets his fingertips brush Blaine’s as they stand side by side to start again on the pancakes. When they sit on the couch Kurt tucks his feet under Blaine’s thigh. Blaine only has to lean across to press his lips to Kurt’s shoulder or to tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of Kurt’s neck.

“Do you want to take a walk?” Kurt asks, after they finish eating. “I’d love to show you the place.”

Of course Blaine says ‘yes’.

They bundle up in jackets and scarves. Around the cabin, the snow is deep and untouched. The sun is dazzling as it touches the ground, but it’s not warm. Blaine squints into it.

They keep a space between them as Kurt leads the way, showing Blaine the raised garden beds which are buried in snow, the old stone walls which mark out the property lines. They stand and look out of the gazebo Kurt built for long summer afternoons. From there is a view to the north east that’s not visible from the cabin. The mountains create their own rough horizon against the sky.

Near the road, the car is still half buried in the snow. There’s nothing to say, no reason to stop there. They pass at a small distance and keep walking.

They stop within sight of the reservoir, by a creek that breaks through the snow. It channels clean and dark through the white. Kurt touches Blaine’s arm. Blaine feels the contact under his skin. They haven’t touched since they left the house.

“Don’t go too close to the edge,” says Kurt. “I’d hate for you to fall in after all the things that have happened to you up here.”

“I’m usually quite light on my feet,” says Blaine blushing.

“I know you are,” says Kurt. It’s a private thrill to know that Kurt watches him.

They’re alone, remarkably wildly alone. Blaine looks through the trees then back to Kurt. Kurt is always beautiful, but in the clear white light he is otherworldly.

Blaine reaches to push Kurt’s hood down, then cups Kurt’s face between his hands. Kurt’s eyes are on Blaine’s as his tongue flickers out to touch his lower lip. When they kiss Kurt’s cheeks are cool but his lips are warm and mobile against Blaine’s. Kurt tips his head and Blaine kisses his neck, until Kurt moans with longing.

“Yes. Please,” says Kurt brokenly. He moves closer.

“Let’s get home,” says Blaine. He feels like he never ever wanted anything until this boy said ‘please’. He wonders how he will give it up.

Kurt takes Blaine’s gloved hand and they hurry back, taking large steps over the snow, stopping only to pull one another close when they can’t stand not to be kissing.

Inside Kurt turns to push Blaine’s jacket from his shoulders, all the while mouthing at his neck, kissing his lips. Blaine doesn’t want to stop to breathe. Kurt takes his own jacket off. Then he moves back to Blaine, eyes greedy, and lifts him up against the heavy door, pinning him there off the ground. Blaine wraps his legs around Kurt’s waist and bends his head to kiss him more deeply. He arches his back for more contact.

Kurt’s hips thrust forward, his cock long and hard even through his pants as it pushes frantically against Blaine’s.

Blaine wants so much more. Even to his own ears his voice is rough with need. “If you don’t want me to come right here in my pants, we’d better move this elsewhere.”

Kurt lowers Blaine to the floor but stays close, keeping him close against the door.

“Upstairs?” asks Blaine. He feels a little desperate with it.

Kurt eyes him. There’s consciousness in the look. His chest rises then falls as he reaches between them for Blaine’s button fly, and opens it. He steps back slightly, making space for Blaine to move but he holds onto Blaine’s wrist. Blaine can’t help but lean to brush his lips against Kurt’s. Kurt turns both their bodies as he deepens the kiss, making it intent and dirty. He backs Blaine against the dining table.

“Turn around,” says Kurt once the backs of Blaine’s thighs contact the table top. Blaine does, standing still and very aware, with his back to Kurt.

Kurt places a hand between Blaine’s shoulder blades and presses him forward and down, until Blaine’s torso is flat on the table and his head twisted to one side. Kurt slips Blaine’s pants over his hips with deft fingers, and lets them pool around Blaine’s ankles. They tangle there like bonds. Blaine feels tied down and wary but immeasurably wanting.

“Stay here,” says Kurt and Blaine listens to him move away. Under his shirt his skin tingles with absence and anticipation. He doesn’t move. When Kurt returns Blaine hears a cap being opened, a package torn. He feels lube as it squirts between his cheeks and over his hole.

“Kurt,” he breathes.

Kurt uses a hand to stretch him gently, keeping the other pressing between Blaine’s shoulder blades so Blaine can’t move his body. Blaine moans. He reaches out his arms and scrabbles for purchase on the table. He lets his hips rock and fuck his ass back against Kurt’s hand.

Once Blaine’s stretched, Kurt moves his lubed hand to grasp Blaine’s hip and hold him in place. He pushes his cock assuredly inside Blaine. It’s bigger than Blaine is accustomed to. He’s stretched. He gasps to feel the fullness. It’s like he’s impaled, Kurt’s cock pushing straight through him, pressing deep against Blaine’s belly. Blaine groans. His cock hangs between his legs, weighty and aching.

“Okay?” asks Kurt.

Blaine lets his hips shove back in answer, forcing Kurt deeper inside.

"Let me fuck you," says Kurt.

He pulls out a little and drives himself deep inside Blaine. He’s strong, persistent. He holds Blaine’s hip steady and keeps drawing out and driving back in, over and over.

Blaine couldn’t stop this if he wanted to. It’s a joy to let go. When he comes the electricity of it fizzes from his shoulders and cock and collides inescapably at his spine. Kurt jerks inside him, thrusts forward and cries out too, then lets his body drop against Blaine’s and silently presses kiss after kiss to Blaine’s shoulders and neck.

Afterwards, Blaine lies flat against the table, panting. Kurt gently cleans them up then moves them to the couch. They lie wrapped around one another, trading lazy kisses. “I wish the winter could last forever,” Blaine says against Kurt’s lips.

Kurt draws his head back. “Hush,” he says. “Don’t. You have a whole life.”

Late in the afternoon, Kurt turns on the sound system. [Nick Drake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3jCFeCtSjk)’s voice spreads through the cabin. _But now you’re here, brighten my Northern Sky._

They sit side by side at the kitchen bench and eat leftover ham and vegetables.

Afterwards they return to the couch. Blaine leans against Kurt’s chest. They talk as they watch the sun go down behind the mountains. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine. He runs a hand up and down Blaine’s arm and hums along with a cover of [Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hKFZFcg7Cs). The song is sweet and dreamy in Blaine’s ear. Blaine can’t help but long to have Kurt’s voice and face back in New York.

"If you could wish for anything, what would it be?" he asks. Kurt’s hand stills on Blaine’s arm. The song switches over and Blaine turns his head. Kurt’s eyes are dark and green.

“You have to know that’s an impossible question to answer,” he says.

Blaine thinks about all the things Kurt would wish for. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Kurt kisses him quiet. There’s no question of where either of them will sleep.

They undress on the way up the stairs.

At first they rut against one another slowly, naked and intimate. Kurt presses Blaine into the bed with his hips. He takes Blaine’s wrists and holds them above his head. All Blaine can do is rock his hips up into Kurt’s and arch his back. Their cocks slide against one another between their bodies, damp with sweat and pre-come. Their breath becomes more frantic as their movement speeds. Kurt lets go of Blaine’s hands, supports himself on one arm. He takes Blaine’s cock and wraps it in his fist to jerk him off. Blaine’s hips buck roughly into Kurt. He keeps his hands stretched above his head.

“I’ve got you,” murmurs Kurt, his eyes bright on Blaine’s. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Blaine arches again and shoves himself forward in Kurt’s grip. He throws his head back and comes with a shout. There’s no one to hear, no one in the world except him and Kurt.

When Blaine can focus again he slides his body down Kurt’s, runs his fingers over Kurt’s cock. He licks his lips.

“May I?” he asks, looking up Kurt’s body.

Kurt’s face is sweet. “Of course,” he says. And Blaine bends himself to the business of breaking him apart and holding him together.

**

When Blaine opens his eyes it’s morning. Sunlight is making its slanted way across the bed. A new day. He has hope and a plan. He looks at Kurt, who is blinking sweetly awake. They smile sleepily.

There’s an engine revving in the distance. Kurt’s face stills.

“Is it-” Blaine starts.

“It’s the snow plow,” Kurt says, his face unreadable. “I guess we knew this would happen. I’ll get my pickup and we’ll able to get you out of here later today.”

Blaine’s heart drops. He looks away from Kurt, out the window at the bright day.

When he looks back Kurt has climbed out of bed and is pulling on jeans. “I’ll get the fire going,” says Kurt and disappears down the stairs. After a moment Blaine hears him chatting to Steve.

Blaine dresses more slowly and follows. Once they’re both seated on the couch with coffee he reaches to touch Kurt’s hand.

“Come with me,” he says. He leans in to make his point. “Come back to New York. I’ll help you get things in order. I’ll introduce you to June and we can-”

Kurt puts his coffee down on the side table and stands, steps away with his back to Blaine.

“Kurt,” continues Blaine, though the words are all twisted up and his early morning optimism seems somehow unbearably wrong. “I just think you should be there. I wish you could be there.” He stands too, feeling vulnerable with all his desires on the surface and Kurt’s back so rigid. “Not just- I want you to be a star. I’m pretty sure you want to be a star.”

Kurt speaks quietly without looking at Blaine. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“You don’t want to come back?” Blaine doesn’t say ‘with me’ but it hangs in the cool air.

“No,” says Kurt and repeats it almost savagely. “No.”

Blaine inhales slowly. His voice feels like it’s coming from far away. “This isn’t what he’d want. He wouldn’t want you to be alone up here, Kurt. He wouldn’t want you to bury yourself with him. That isn’t what love is.”

Kurt whips his head toward Blaine. His face is ablaze and his body is quivering with anger but his voice is low and precise. “What the fuck makes you think you have any idea what love is.”

All the things they have done together, all the ways they have touched one another, are right there between them. And Kurt eyes Blaine with something that seems like contempt.

Blaine can’t help but take a step back.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay but-”

And there’s the sound of a car, loud in the silence outside. Kurt turns to look out the window as a car pulls up at the gate.

“Do you know them?” he asks. There’s no way Blaine can read the tension in his body or on his face.

Blaine looks out to the road. “Yes,” he says. It’s his parents.

“You should grab your stuff,” says Kurt. “I’ll walk down to meet them. Their car won’t make it up the drive.”

“We need to talk,” says Blaine.

“Blaine. I’ve said all I have to say.” And Blaine doesn’t have the words or the charm to make this all better. It could be he doesn’t even have the right to try, however much he wishes he did.

He hurries down to the car. His parents are standing at the gate with Kurt, their coats wrapped tightly around them. They’re certain of themselves in all their polished normalcy.

His mother is speaking. “We really can’t thank you enough. As I said, we are more than happy to compensate you-”

“No. Thank you, but no. Your son improved my quiet Christmas. I really couldn’t take anything. I’m just glad I could help.”

Blaine stares at him. Next to his parents, Kurt looks impossible. He looks like something Blaine dreamed up. And somehow Blaine has to leave him here on the mountain.

He can’t think of any appropriate words. How to explain that he feels as though something has exploded like fireworks in his heart. Even to Blaine it seems ridiculous and unlikely.

“Goodbye,” he says at last.

“Goodbye, Blaine,” says Kurt.

Blaine refuses to leave without at least touching this man. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Kurt. Kurt hugs back, holding him tightly. Blaine can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“Thank you for everything,” says Blaine.

As they drive away Blaine tries to resist turning to look out the back window. When he can’t stand it any longer he turns his head. The cabin looks small beside the snow capped trees and the towering mountains. Kurt looks smaller still. Blaine takes it in for a moment, committing the image to memory. Then the car turns a bend and the cabin and its occupant disappear.


	6. Chapter 6

With only Kurt to fill it, the cabin is quiet. He takes his lunch and sits out on the deck to eat. The day is incongruously warm and clear, and the sky a perfect hopeful blue.

As he steps back inside he glances at the clock above the mantel. Three hours. It’s been three hours since Blaine left. If this is how three hours feels, Kurt can’t imagine how he’ll cope with the rest of winter, let alone a lifetime. Still, he’s proven once that you can become accustomed to anything.

He needs supplies from town. He finishes clearing the drive and backs the pickup out of the shed. As he drives over the pass, the valley opens up before him. From above, the town is tiny and picturesque, set comfortably beside the river. At street level, though, it feels crowded in a way that’s nothing like New York. This is the kind of crowded where people say ‘hello’ and know your name. Kurt wonders if everyone can see Blaine written all over him.

He buys milk and eggs and some green beans. Then he steps into the bakery for croissants.

“I’ve been asked to tow a car that’s near your place,” says Katey from a table near the counter. “They tell me it came off the road Christmas Eve.”

There’s no point in trying to keep secrets here. “Yeah, the kid who crashed it was stuck with me at the cabin for a few days.”

Several sets of eyes rest on him. The room smells sweet and buttery.

“That was kind of you, Kurt,” says Katey. “He seems like a nice young man.”

Bren grins from behind the counter. “That’s not all you said, Katey. You thought he was a gentleman and easy on the eye.”

“That he was. Nice **and** gorgeous. Wouldn’t you agree, Kurt?”

“Oh,” says Kurt and an image flashes behind his eyes - Blaine lying across Kurt’s bed, naked and absurdly lovely. “I- He was pleasant company. But we won’t see much of him. He’s going back to New York and his fiancé.”

“Is that right?” says Katey. “What a shame. Ah well, as I was saying the family wants me to tow the car out to Phoenicia today. Get yourself home in an hour if you want to see it go.”

“I have a few things to get,” says Kurt. “And I need to talk with Shay about some seeds for next month. So I suspect I’ll miss it.”

"Fair enough."

Kurt doesn’t head home until the sun is starting to set over the mountains. The snow and the sky are vivid orange and yellow and the trees are black against them. The view would make a remarkable fabric.

Kurt parks in the shed. He stops outside, despite the cold, and looks up. He takes in the wide sky, as all the stars wink awake. Then he opens the front door. It’s good to have his space to himself.

**

New York is Blaine’s city. The skyline burns brightly as it draws him in.

He spent two days in the mountains with his parents, watching the sun rise and set on the snow, expecting to see Kurt around every corner. He felt jumpy and nervous. In any case he had to get back. He had to see Knox.

But entering their apartment building is horrifying.

It feels wrong, somehow, to use the key but he can hardly ring the bell. Blaine sets his shoulders and opens the door. Knox looks up from the kitchen where he’s cooking their customary risotto - chicken and corn and mushroom.  

“Sir Edmund returns from the wilds,” Knox says, and smiles. Blaine knows that face so well, his straight teeth and smooth skin, dark blonde hair, the evening’s faint shadow of a beard.  

“Hi,” says Blaine. He stands still for a moment. “Knox. Um. You need to sit down.”

Knox looks at him blankly, steps toward him. “Blaine?” he says. “What’s up?” His gray eyes are puzzled, but not apprehensive. “Can it wait a minute? I’m in the middle of-.”

“Please just. Could you sit?”

Knox hesitates but moves to sit on the dark leather couch. It was a gift from Knox’s sister, though they chose it together. He looks up at Blaine. Behind his head is a photograph of one of the ponds in Central Park, the city’s buildings reflecting like watercolors from the surface. Blaine stands awkwardly for a moment. He walks over to the stove to turn down the heat.

“What’s up, baby?” says Knox as he comes back. “Is it about the car or-”  He sounds unsure of himself, which is not how Knox ever sounds.

It makes Blaine feels sick to do this. He’s woken to this man for a year and a half.  He knows what yogurt he likes and the soft noises he makes when he’s asleep. They’ve kissed on the Queensborough Bridge and supported one another through hard things, half marathons on miserable winter days, audition failures, job disappointments. He held Knox’s hand while he sobbed through his father’s funeral. And they’ve laughed together and danced together. Blaine meant it when he said ‘yes’.

Still. He takes a breath. He meets Knox’s eyes.

“Knox. I’m- I’m leaving. I have to leave.”

“Leaving?” Knox leans away like he can’t help it. “You mean- you mean leaving me?” Blaine wishes he could take the words back. But that’s impossible. That would be far worse.

“Yes.” Blaine breathes. “Yeah.”

There’s a long silence. “What’s this about? What. Did something happen?” asks Knox. He stands up suddenly, shakes himself as though he can’t stay on the couch with Blaine standing over him. “Blaine. Did something happen with that—- guy?”

Blaine says, “Yes.” He looks at the ceiling for a second to try and stop the tears he knows are coming.

When he looks back, Knox is still standing there, frozen. “Fuck, Blaine. What the fuck?” And Blaine knows he understands because Knox never swears.

“I’m so sorry, Knox,” he says. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I never meant-”

Knox exhales, all disbelief and wounded pride. More than just wounded pride. His voice cracks on the words. “You never meant what? Never meant to hurt me? God. I can’t believe- I stood up for you Blaine. WIth my mother and my grandparents. You’re not- I could have had a hundred other boys. I chose-”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you,” says Blaine. The words are weak to his own ears.  

Knox steps away a little, toward the window. His voice shakes but he’s more himself now. More pulled together. “I looked him up. This Kurt Hummel. After you mentioned his name,” he says. “I get it, Blaine. He rescued you. And you’re grateful. But you’re not a damsel in distress: he’s not some Prince Charming. And however many awards he has, however tragic a backstory, he’ll never be able to support you the way I have. The way you need.”

Blaine wants to say, “it’s not like that.” He wants to say he never needed Knox, but he might have lived as though he did for so long that Knox believes it to be true. He wants to tell him that this isn’t about Kurt. Kurt isn’t even coming to New York. Not for Blaine. Not for anyone.

Knox’s eyes are bright with hurt but he’s pushed down his uncertainty. He sets his mouth. “You’re making a mistake, Blaine. Don’t think you can just come running back to me when your fantasy falls apart.”

Blaine says, “No. No, I won’t.”

Knox looks at him for a long moment. He is so familiar but he feels like a stranger. “Just, look. Stay at someone’s place tonight. Talk to me tomorrow.”

“Of course,” says Blaine. He does think he owes Knox that conversation.

“We can sort this out,” says Knox, “once you’ve had time to think it through.” He sounds confident but his jaw is clenched too tightly.

Blaine moves fractionally toward him. “Knox. You need to know it’s not about another guy. It’s more than that.” Knox just stares back. “When I was up there in all that space and snow, I could see myself again. I used to know who I was. But there are all these parts of me I’ve shut down. And that was okay. I chose to. That’s all on me. But now. I have the chance to make a different choice. And I can’t stay with you now that I’ve seen all there is-”

“What did you give up? Comics and costumes? That acapella group at NYADA? You’re better than that, Blaine.”

“That’s not-,” says Blaine, but he trails off. He doesn’t think he can explain that he felt more playing one song in a lonely cabin in the mountains than he did in two years rehearsing and performing and living the dream in New York.

“Was he that much of a revelation?” asks Knox. His face is pale.

Blaine doesn’t say anything. The answer is that none of this has anything to do with Kurt. Blaine is leaving because Blaine needs to leave, needs to remind himself who he is and what he can be, what he can make for the world. The other answer is ‘yes’.

There are tears in Knox’s eyes. Blaine hates that he’s the one who put them there.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You can call someone before I go. I don’t want to leave you this way.”

Knox turns away. “Of course I’m okay. Don’t be patronizing- Just go, Blaine. Get out of my house.”

“I’m so sorry,” says Blaine but at this stage he’s only saying it for himself.

Minutes later Blaine stands on the sidewalk with his overnight bag and nothing else. For a moment he feels like he’s lost everything. The unfamiliarity is more frightening than thrilling. He thinks of the apartment, the furniture. He thinks of Knox wondering what to do with all that risotto.

Blaine’s alone. He could do anything, forget anything, become anything.  He could live in a bar and make art. He could build a secret identity. He could move to Paris. He thinks about running down the street yelling. Or taking a train back upstate. Instead he calls Sam.

“Hey! Dude! You’re back?” Sam’s voice is the same as ever. Blaine pictures his broad smile. “You’ve got to see this. I made a Millenium Falcon out of gingerbread. You should come over and help me eat it! If you’re in town.”

“Yep, I’m back,” says Blaine. “Um. Sam. Can I stay with you? Just- for a short time?”

Blaine can almost hear Sam reshuffle his thoughts at the other end of the line.

“Absolutely. Of course. As long as you like,” says Sam.

**

It’s been a long time since Blaine felt free to do whatever he wants, but as it turns out what he wants is to continue with the things he was doing before: living in New York, performing, raising his profile in the Broadway world, auditioning.

He goes to the rehearsal space for June’s showcase on the Upper West Side. There are parquetry floors, huge windows and, of course, a grand piano.

He’s early. June has brought sugared donuts.

“Could I talk to you for a moment, June?” Blaine asks before they begin. He’s nervous; Knox introduced him to June. Blaine half expects her to remove him from the showcase now that he is no longer engaged.

Instead she says, “Who?”

“My fiancé,” says Blaine. He wants to lay it all on the line. “My ex-fiance. Knox Garrison. He introduced me to you. That’s why I’m here.”

June rolls her eyes. “Garrison. Oh yes. I know his grandfather.” She looks Blaine in the face. “Understand me, Blaine, I  know a lot of people. I choose my protégés on the basis of talent and charisma and a certain special something I like to call star quality. I do not choose them because of another person. Even one they’re stupidly young and engaged to.”

Blaine frowns a little. “Oh. Thank you?” he says.

She eyes him shrewdly. “There’s no time for thanks, and no need. This is the time for talent and hard work. Are you going to give me both, Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes. Of course,” says Blaine. “I absolutely am.”

“All right, then,” says June. “Let’s get on with it. Try one of the suggestions for your solo.”

Blaine sings.

__[This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbgxsOuHevo) road never looked so lonely.   
This house doesn’t burn down slowly.   
To ashes. To ashes.   
It’s time to begin, isn’t it?  
I get a little bit bigger but then I’ll admit  
I’m just the same as I was

Every note feels unstoppable.

As he finishes June claps slowly. Her eyes are sharply appraising.”Very nice, Blaine. Very nice.”

**

Blaine stays in Sam’s tiny guest room. The combination of undemanding kindness and availability to play video games is hard to beat. It’s not that Blaine forgets the time in the cabin, but it mostly seems like a dream. Over the next weeks he hangs with Sam, he sees more of his NYADA friends.  He rehearses. He loves working with Danesh and Paul, who are performing with him. The three of them have a mutual respect and seem to lift one another to new heights.

Of course, when he sings he thinks of Kurt. Sometimes. Most of the time. Not all the time.

But certainly Kurt is on his mind. Enough that one afternoon he takes the train from the uptown rehearsal space to the Fashion Institute of Technology.  The sweet guy on the telephone has arranged access to the museum collections despite Blaine not precisely being a student of fashion.

He meets with success pretty quickly. The collection has sketches upon sketches of Lachlan’s work. Structural dresses inspired by nature with complementary hats, military jackets in charcoal and stone with asymmetrical epaulets, slim fit suits in unusual moss and rock textures with mismatched lapels.  Lachlan’s vision is clear throughout. And all the menswear sketches show a figure with perfectly styled hair, light eyes and a jawline that Blaine recognises.

There are photographs too. The designs on the runway at New York fashion week. Lachlan with other designers. There’s one with Kurt that makes Blaine’s heart pause in his chest. And over and over pictures with a woman. The pictures read: Lachlan Meesang with design partner Isabelle Wright, Isabelle Wright with colleague and close friend Lachlan Meesang.

Blaine asks after Ms. Wright. The collections archivist is happy to help.

“She’s the designer behind PlayWright,” he says. “You must have heard of it, she’s the latest thing. And, Blaine, if you’d like some help finding her or want to talk fashion over a glass of wine you could give me a call.”

He presses a card into Blaine’s hand.  Blaine glances at the phone number on it and blushes as he thanks him.

**

The thaw comes early. Every day the snow melts, creeps away from the house and into the waterways. Sunlight catches on ice water as it hangs and drips from the trees. The view is as it ever was, clear and lovely from every window. Kurt waits for it to seep into his bones. He tries to hold on to all the ways solitude is better than any alternative.

But when he goes to bed, there’s a space beside him that hasn’t felt empty for a long time.

It’s not just that. Because during the short days he is itchy with a want that has nothing to do with another body and everything to do with being awake and alive and longing to create something outside of himself.  

He has trees to prune and garden tools to oil and sharpen. He has garden beds to plan and his truck needs a tune. He has a whole world of everyday activity that he’s built around himself. It infuriates him that even all of that is not enough any more.  

He’s outside with his head under the hood of the pickup. Katey passes the front gate and leans out of her truck. “Shay says she got the new seed in. If the weather holds you’ll be planting in a couple of weeks.”

Kurt nods as he stands up. He wipes his hands on a rag and shoves it in his back pocket as he heads toward her. “Great,” he says. “I’m planning to start them indoors in pots, get a nursery going and see if I can avoid any unexpected frosts.” He takes a breath. “Katey, does Shay still sing over at the Rendezvous in Kingston?”

“She sure does. Every Sunday evening. Are we going to be able to tempt you to come down this time?”

“I think so, yes.” Kurt says. He is a bit shaky with it.  

Katey looks at him in some disbelief. Her voice is gentle. “That’s wonderful. And…what about getting you up on stage with her?”

“Katey. I couldn’t. It’s Shay’s night.”

Katey rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone to dial. “Hi, baby. Look I’m here with Kurt. Can he sing a few songs next Sunday?”

She listens, looks at Kurt. “How many do you want?” she asks.

Kurt’s breath stutters. “Uh, three?”

“Perfect. Hear that, Shay?”

When she hangs up Katey says, “She’s thrilled, Kurt. And I’ll tell you a secret. She’s my wife but even I’d kick her off the microphone in a heartbeat to hear you.”

“I won’t tell,” says Kurt. He’s blushing. He can’t help but be pleased.

“That would certainly be best for my marital happiness,” says Katy. She pauses. “Are things- are you doing okay, Kurt?”

Kurt meets her eyes. They don’t talk often but she’s been a neighbor for years. He trusts her. “I think so, yeah. They will be.”

“And that guy who was stuck here over Christmas. Was all that okay? Are you still in touch with him?”

Kurt’s heart thuds like a drum in his chest. “No. No, we didn’t part on good terms. I snapped and-   I don’t know that I could get in touch with him if I wanted to.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. Well, you come for dinner sometime, Kurt. You know I make a mean chili. And you and Shay can talk garden beds and classic Gaga songs.”

“I’d like that,” says Kurt. He does want to get out more often.

Once he’s finished with the pickup, he heads indoors. He eyes the piano against the window, gives in and opens it up. He flexes his fingers then tries some Lady Gaga. The cat circles his legs as he moves on to Whitney Houston for its perfect combination of ridiculous pop sensibility and ultimate tragedy.  Lachlan would have laughed at his choice, then watched, rapt, as he sang.

_[There’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4z8wjgxq5FQ) a boy I know, he’s the one I dream of_  
 _Looks into my eyes. Takes me to the clouds above_.

He makes it lilting and sweet, messes up the chords in the bridge, but it’s a start. It’s not the only Whitney song he can play, though for now he thinks the pop will be easier than the ballads. Still he lets his fingers run over the keys and pushes through the break in his voice.

__[Didn’t](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PqCi-nQLWk) we almost have it all  
When love was all we had worth giving?  
The ride with you was worth the fall my friend.

When the song finishes Kurt blinks in the bright room, sets his head on the piano and cries. The cat jumps onto the chair and pushes her way into his lap. He’s not sure what he’s grieving, exactly. When he stops crying the room is still the same - the tidy kitchen, the warm cat, the sloped walls, the stairs to the loft above. There’s dust in the air and dinner to cook.

He finds a pen and paper and sits back at the piano. _Rendezvous Set List_ , he writes. He twirls the pen between his fingers and looks out the window to the trees beyond.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corinna conceived the casting call. She's all over this.

Isabelle Wright’s design studio is upstairs off Bleecker Street.  
  
“Hello? Hi. I have an appointment,” calls Blaine as he opens the door. The studio interior is a stylish oasis of huge windows and sleek metal desks alongside an unexpected mint green rococo chaise lounge.  
  
A slight woman with a head full of curls spins around from where she’s draping something in lilac and heather and gray. She has a pincushion in her hand.  
  
“Oh, yes! Blaine Anderson. Come in. I’ll just finish this if you’ll sit on something. I’m Isabelle.”  
  
Blaine sits on a painted stool. He came here on impulse, as though somehow meeting someone who knew Kurt and knew Lachlan might… he’s not even sure what he hoped. And now, faced with Isabelle Wright, he doesn’t know how to start. If he could leave without being rude, he’d do so.  
  
Once she finishes, Isabelle sits opposite him, perched neatly on the chaise lounge as though it’s an everyday piece of furniture. She tilts her head and fixes her eyes on him.    
  
“You said on the phone that you know Kurt Hummel,” she says. He’s thankful for her directness.  
  
“Yes. That is- A few weeks ago my car came off the road in the snow and I accidentally landed on his doorstep and was stranded there for a few days.”    
  
“Hmm. That sounds like an adventure,” says Isabelle and her conspiratorial smile makes Blaine feel like he already knows her.  
  
“He’s living up there in this cabin in the Catskills. I don’t know if you know it.”  
  
She shakes her head. “No.”  
  
He thinks back to the cabin. The kitchen. The piano. The loft upstairs. The way the heavy timber walls kept the winter out, the view from the deck, the way he’d felt so much there even in so short a time.  
  
“It’s a beautiful little A-frame up in the mountains, off the main road. I was driving late in blizzard conditions - stupid of me. The car just slid off the road. It would have been a lot worse if it weren’t for Kurt. He just came across the snow and rescued me.”  
  
Isabelle’s eyes are wide. She’s the first person he’s spoken to who knows Kurt, and he wants to say it all.  
  
“He was stuck with me for Christmas, which I’m sure wasn’t what he wanted. But it was amazing. We talked a lot, about everything, about music and our lives and just everything. We talked about Lachlan too. Which is why I’m here. I just wanted to know more about him. Because I … liked Kurt and it seemed like he’d lost everything-”  
  
Isabelle examines Blaine for a moment. “I think about that often. We all lost a lot, but Kurt. Kurt lost the man he loved and all the things they’d planned for the future.”  
  
“Will you tell me about Lachlan?” asks Blaine.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Though I have to warn you: I don’t have much chance to talk about him these days. So when I do...sometimes it’s hard to stop me.” She looks off into the distance for a moment and Blaine feels the absence in the room. “What do you want to know?” she asks finally. “More about his designs? His personal life?”  
  
“Everything,” says Blaine. “Whatever you’re able to tell me.”     
  
“You might want to get comfortable,” she smiles. “We met at Parsons and we were inseparable. He was talented.  That was the first thing I noticed. He loved creating beautiful things. But he was more than that.  He was warm and funny, direct but kind with it. And vain, perpetually late because he had tried on twenty shirts and none of them was quite right. He could be enormously generous. He was Australian, you knew that? He’d play it up sometimes, explain the rules of cricket using salt shakers or talk about the crocodiles he’d wrestled and skinned for his boots. They were always great boots.  
  
“I miss him, every day,” she says. “It wasn’t just that he was fun and talented, it was that we clicked. I wanted to hear every single thing he ever said and see every single thing he ever created. We were planning to open a design house together but then- .”  
  
Blaine nods as she continues.  
  
“He was, popular, you know. With the boys. He didn’t lack attention. But when he met Kurt. Well. They had this connection.”  
  
Isabelle pauses and looks at him. Blaine swallows the jealousy that he has absolutely no right to feel.  
  
“They were sweet. It- it hurt at first. I thought I was losing Lachlan to this boy. And I couldn’t compete. And yes, our friendship changed but-” she pauses. “It was better too. I loved Kurt. You’ve met him. You know how he is.”  
  
“Yeah,” says Blaine. “I know.”  
  
She looks away. “They got married a year and a half after they met. They were just babies but it seemed- It was romantic. And then five months later Lachlan died.”  
  
The room is bright. Blaine’s eyes sting. “I’m really so very sorry,” he says and means it more than he can explain.  
  
Isabelle blinks back tears. “He could have been a great talent. He already was, but he was going to be more.”  
  
“I think… so was Kurt,” Blaine says softly.  
  
“Yes,” says Isabelle. “And instead... I’d forgotten they had the cabin. I never saw it. Is he happy there?”  
  
“I honestly have no way to answer that,” says Blaine. “He’s lonely, I think. He’s alone a lot. But he has a life. He gardens and teaches and fixes cars.”  
  
She smiles a little. “Kurt Hummel in a log cabin… I can’t imagine.” They sit in silence. Eventually she says, “It was hard, obviously. Impossibly hard. When Lachlan died - it was difficult to look at Kurt afterwards. I’d thought I would lose Lachlan to Kurt. And then it felt like I had.”  
  
“But that’s not-”  
  
“I’m not saying it’s fair. It’s not. Nothing is fair about any of this. But by the time I could look at Kurt again, he’d already gone.”  
  
Blaine closes his mouth. Isabelle lost her future too. He has no right to ask why she didn’t try to track Kurt down.    
  
“Will you see Kurt again?” Isabelle asks.  
  
Blaine stammers a little. “I- ” He can’t say that he sees Kurt every time he closes his eyes but he doesn’t have a phone number and worse, doesn’t know whether contact would be welcome.  
  
She contemplates him with a thoughtful frown, but her eyes are soft. “It’s just that I have this thing I’d like to send him. I didn’t think I’d ever get to.  I felt like he was just gone. It never occurred to me that he went somewhere that was Lachlan’s space too. I should have thought.”  
  
Her face is stricken. Blaine says, “I don’t think he’s been ready for people.”     
  
Isabelle says, softly, “That’s very kind.” She stands. “So will you send this for me?” Blaine watches as she walks to a storage unit and carefully extracts a suit from a hanging bag.  
  
“Lachlan designed it. He meant it for Kurt but he never finished it. Two years ago I unearthed his sketches and swatches, sourced the materials and made it up… it’s different than it would have been if he’d made it, of course. It’s an art not a science, designing clothes. And I don’t know if Kurt’s measurements have changed. But here. It’s his.”  
  
The suit is a rich turquoise and textured. Like peacock feathers or the doppler effect. Blaine desperately wants to touch it. He says, “I don’t know if- Don’t you want to send it yourself?”  
  
Isabelle contemplates him. “I wouldn’t know what to say. And in any case the suit has been here for so long. I wouldn't be able to send it at all without your involvement. I think this is supposed to be a team effort and... I like you, Blaine Anderson. I want you on my team.”  
  
Blaine keeps his eyes on the suit. He knows something of what this will mean to Kurt. The idea of sending such a beautiful thing to Kurt’s door, to the cabin, is irresistible.    
  
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get it to him. I’d like to.”  
  
He steps closer. He fingers the lapel of the suit then steps away and leans in the window, watching as Isabelle packages it in a shallow box. Her hands are slim and careful.  
  
“You can add a note at the post office,” she says. She touches his arm. “Take care of it.”  
  
It feels like a blessing.  
  
**  
  
The [Rendezvous Lounge](http://kingstonprogressive.blogspot.com.au/2011/10/rendezvous-in-kingston.html) in Kingston is small and smells like beer. Kurt is standing by the battered grand piano. He looks over the crowd apprehensively. But when the music starts he opens his mouth to sing and somehow almost everyone in the room is perfectly still.  
  
 _[I don't know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eguqZVxgMOQ) why I'm frightened_  
 _I know my way around here_  
 _The cardboard trees, the painted seas, the sound here..._  
  
Kurt feels suspended, his heart in every word and everyone’s eyes on him. He had forgotten what this felt like. When he finishes, the applause comes almost as a surprise.  
  
He moves on to some Whitney and finishes with Madonna. When it’s over he stands and bows, then grins and bows again. He steps off the stage as Shay takes over. Locals and strangers brush by, pat his arm. “Good job,” they say. “Took me back.” When he reaches the bar, Kurt runs his fingers over the scarred wood and orders a Shirley Temple.  
  
“Very nice. You made me feel just like you,” says the bartender. “Young and in love.” Kurt blushes but doesn’t argue.  
  
Katey and Aisling come up behind him.  
  
“I cried,” says Katey. “Great big tears, Kurt. Ugly big tears.” She hugs him and he pats her back awkwardly.  
  
“Beautiful,” says Aisling from behind her. “You’ve a gift, love.”  
  
Kurt watches Shay play through covers of Adele and Snow Patrol. He’s happy with the evening’s work, but he’s also exhausted. He’s glad he drove himself down rather than coming with the others. He leaves at ten, leaving everyone around a table giggling over local gossip.  
  
He drives up the pass, alone under the big clear sky. He loves it here, feels safe in his solitude and all this space. But performing is a current in his blood.    
  
In bed he lies on his back and contemplates the ceiling. For the first time he truly asks himself whether he wants to go back to New York. He’s terrified. But he knows the answer to the question before he asks himself. He makes a plan in his head, then a new plan, and a new one. He turns it over and over until he sleeps.    
  
When he wakes it’s early - too early to make any calls. His plans sit under his skin like a new itch. He feels too wide awake. It’s hard to stay still.  
  
He pulls on his boots and a jacket and heads out to walk the fence line. As he reaches the front gate a UPS truck pulls up. The guy smiles nervously in his uniform.  
  
“Never delivered anything to here before. Do you have a dog?”  
  
“Oh,” says Kurt. “No. No dog.” He doesn’t mention Steve or the coyotes that keep Steve inside. “Are you sure this is meant for me?”  
  
“Kurt Hummel?”  
  
Kurt signs for the parcel and takes it inside. The postmark is New York, which feels like a sign of some kind, for good or ill.  
  
He opens the box, lifts the paper. He pauses on seeing the deep turquoise material of the dinner suit inside. After a moment he shakes the suit out, holds his breath as he holds it up to himself. The material is rich and gorgeous, the shape perfect. He’d know Lachlan’s designs anywhere.  
  
He imagines Lachlan, helping Kurt into the jacket, smoothing his hands over Kurt’s waist. “This look is perfect on you, babe. And the turquoise. Exquisite with your skin.  Let me just fix the shoulders for you.”  
  
Kurt carries it into better light. The suit’s beautiful. He blinks back tears but really he feels more like shouting, releasing all his emotion into the wide spaces and jagged horizon around him.    
  
There’s a note in tidy handwriting he doesn’t recognize. Somehow Kurt knows, even before he reads, who it comes from.  
  
 _Dear Kurt,_  
  
 _I visited Isabelle Wright mostly, to be honest, because you were on my mind. She had wonderful things to say about Lachlan and also about you._  
  
 _This, as you probably recognized, is Lachlan’s design. Isabelle made it up and she asked me to send it to you. I don’t know that you’ll have much opportunity to wear it but I know that it’s beautiful and will look amazing on you when you do. When I look at this I can see how he saw you. I hope it brings you joy though I know it will also bring sadness._  
  
 _Thank you again for rescuing me. I will not forget anything._  
  
 _yours, Blaine._  
  
Kurt stares at the note for a long time. He has one hand on the suit running his fingers over the textured material, lightly memorising it.  
  
Across the room, Lachlan smiles brightly from the photograph. Kurt nods fractionally. Then he folds the note and slips it into the interior pocket of the suit. He heads upstairs and finds a suit bag, places the suit carefully inside. The color promises a tomorrow that even a month ago he hadn’t really dared look for. He almost hates to zip the bag closed.  
  
He looks at his watch. It’s time. He makes coffee, then sits at the dining table to make the call.  
  
“Santana Lopez.”  
  
“Santana, it’s Kurt.”  
  
She gasps. “Well, blow me. Kurt Hummel,” she says. She’s hiding it but he can hear the smile in her voice.  “Are you calling me as a friend or as your agent?”  
  
“A bit of both,” he says. “Hi, Santana. How are you?”  
  
He imagines her stretching her legs out under her desk. “I’m thriving. Filthy rich and powerful. Enough about me. Tell me you’re finally getting your sweet gay ass back to the city?”  
  
He takes a breath. “Yes. I think I am. As long as the city will have me.”  
  
“The city’s been waiting for this day for a long time,” she says. “Not me, though, I’m convinced you’ve got wrinkles and stink of woodsmoke and lumberjack.”    
  
“I know it’s been a long time,” he says.  
  
“Too long. Now as your friend, it’s nice to know you might be finally getting over your Nicholas Sparks fixation and coming to your senses. But you called me as your agent. Does that mean you want me to start a search?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Perfect,” she says before she catches herself. “Now you can’t expect to waltz in and have your pick of roles.”  
  
He holds his tongue.  
  
“There are fresh faces in town, on my books even. And some of them are just as sweet and gay as you. Everyone wants to work with me. You’re lucky to get a foot in my door.”  
  
“So to speak,” he says.  
  
She pauses for a moment. “It’s dangerous to mess with me, Kurt.”  
  
“I’m the only person who’d dare,” he says.  
  
She sighs theatrically. “You’re right. Still. Now let me check.” He hears her on the computer. She laughs quietly. ”I have just the thing.”  
  
“Tell me?”  
  
“Wendy Williams is pulling together a kind of 1940s era musical - World War II. She’s come up with a narrative. You can probably imagine it - featured singers touring with the Army Air Force Band. Everyone in uniform. Falling in love while war goes on around them. Adorable. Anyway, she’s attached Unique Adams to it.”  
  
“Okay.” Kurt’s been out of the loop for a long time. He doesn’t know the name.  
  
“Wait ‘til you hear the casting notice.” She clears her throat and sounds smug as she reads. “Principal roles on offer are: Charlie, 20s, any ethnicity. A charming youngster. Quick witted, idealistic, talented, maybe a little cocky. Light tenor voice. Kurt Hummel type.” She stops.  
  
“Oh,” he says feeling slow. He mostly can’t believe people remember him for anything but tragedy.  
  
“So,” she prompts. “They’re looking for a Kurt Hummel type. You have got to let me call and offer them the real thing. Yes?”  
  
He pauses and when he speaks his voice shakes. “Yeah. Okay. Yes.” He wonders if he’s ready, if his vocals are strong enough. Whether he can act at all after three years with mostly a cat for company.  
  
“Are you ready for this, Kurt?” she asks.  
  
“I think so. I’ve been singing a bit. But. Maybe not enough.” He feels himself getting wound up. “I don’t know, Santana. Honestly, I can’t remember how to do a basic pirouette.”  
  
“Kurt. Calm down. You have got the Broadway bit down. It’s built into your DNA or something. That’s not actually what I’m worried about.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“No.” There’s a break and he wonders what she’s thinking.  Finally she asks, “So do you want good cop or bad cop?”  
  
“Can you just have nothing to do with law enforcement at all?”  
  
She sighs. “When it comes down to it, Kurt, they’re going to bring up Lachlan.  So how are you going to handle that? Are you going to make use of it-”  
  
“God, Santana. Of course not. Can you just not-”  
  
“You wouldn’t work with me, Kurt, if you wanted someone to tiptoe around this. I know you. You don’t want to talk about it but you’d hate it even more if I kept quiet and just looked at you and thought about it.”  
  
Kurt can’t disagree.  
  
“Okay, so will you make use of it or will you let them destroy you with it?”  
  
He closes his eyes. “I refuse to believe that those are my only options.”  
  
“Perhaps not. But let’s start with the worst case scenario. It’s going to come up. You need to know that you’ll be able to answer. They’ll talk around his death in auditions. But in interviews they will hit you hard. “ _How is it being in a show set in wartime given that you have personally faced the death of a loved one_?” or “ _Is it hard to be back in New York without Lachlan_?” or “ _Are you still close with Lachlan’s family and friends_?” or “ _Does anyone blame you for his death_?”  
  
He feels like a tidal wave has hit him. He grips the phone. “Stop. Santana. Stop. Fuck.” She’s always been a force to be reckoned with.    
  
“See,” she says but she doesn’t sound pleased. “I want you back but not if it’s going to hurt you. ”  
  
“Give me a moment,” he says. “Just give me a moment.”  
  
“They’re not going to give you any time.”  
  
He levels his breathing and keeps his voice steady. “No. But I’ll be prepared for them. I wasn’t expecting you.”  
  
“Nobody ever is,” she says. “Okay. I can put you in touch with this woman I know. Lesbian. Smart. She’ll give you some talking points.”  
  
He looks out the window over the trees. It’s raining, soaking into the earth. Outside on the mountain everything is uncomplicated.  
  
Even though she can’t see him, he sets his jaw. “Ask me again.”  
  
“That’s not what- You have time, Kurt.”  
  
“Ask me again.”  
  
There’s silence. Then she says, “Kurt, this is the first time you’ve appeared on stage since your husband’s tragic death. Will that affect your performance?”  
  
He inhales. “Yes. Of course. Lachlan will always be part of everything I do. Having said that, this is a wonderful role, and the character has his own life which, like anyone’s includes both joy and tragedy. I’m proud to bring him to the world. And I’m looking forward to the future.”  
  
Santana says, “You disappeared for three years, Kurt. Are you planning to stay in New York for a while?”  
  
Kurt pauses, “Santana. Can I just see whether anyone even wants me?"  
  
“Okay,” says Santana after a pause. “Okay.”  
  
“I’m not ready to make plans.”  
  
“You’re fine. You don’t need to. But I’m glad you’re letting me look for you.”  
  
“Thank you,” he says. “I missed you.”  
  
She coughs into the phone. “They’ll make you audition,” she says. “No one’s heard you sing in three years.”  
  
He nods, already planning. “I’ll get something ready.”  
  
“Talk to Rachel. She probably has a songlist with multiple appropriate arrangements prepared just for this very moment.”  
  
He smiles, “No doubt.” He doesn’t need to speak with Rachel to know what song he’ll audition with. But he thinks he might call anyway.  
  
He misses Rachel too. Sure, building a show with her was tough, especially with so little support. They both had hundreds of opinions but very little idea of what they were doing. And however long they’d known one another, however much he really did love Rachel, they did not work well together. But that’s fine. They’ll never ever try that again. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think of her as soon as he thinks of New York.  
  
Ten minutes after they hang up he gets a text from Santana, with an address and a time in one week. _“Be ready. Don’t embarrass me,_ ” it reads. Then he gets another text which reads “ _Welcome back. xo_ ”    



	8. Chapter 8

Blaine is alone in the rehearsal space - just him on the piano trying to tease out the second of his solos. The sun’s gone down outside. It’ll be a cold trip home to Sam’s.

“You’re still here.”

Blaine looks up from the keys and smiles at June as she peers around the door.

“I wanted to practice this modulation again. It’s a tricky interval. I need to get it fixed perfectly in my brain.”

“I see,” says June. She steps in and moves to sit beside him on the piano stool. Blaine shifts across politely. “Play it for me,” she says.

She listens to him in silence, her head nodding. When he finishes the chorus she rests a hand over his on the keys. He stops playing.

“Blaine, I am genuinely not at all interested in what happened with you and that Garrison boy you were engaged to. Apart from anything else, engagements are a foolish construct. But I will say this.”

Blaine waits worriedly. He’s been working hard. He’s certain he’s been improving, connecting with every note. But he has no idea what June sees.

“When I first saw you sing, I knew there was something there. That special-” she waves her hands, “spark that only true performers have. I’ve always been able to see it. But now-” she pauses again. Blaine begins to wonder if she’s drawing this out to torture him. “It’s a whole new Blaine. You had all that charm and polish before of course. And the audience will love that. But there’s more now. I don’t know where it’s come from but there’s true passion there. Keep this up and you’ll go far.”

He blushes, pleased. “Thank you.”

“If I’d seen this before I might not have troubled myself with the others. I’d have given you your own showcase. Maybe got up and sung with you myself.”

Blaine smiles. He’s sure she’s not serious.

“I’ll leave you to it,” says June. “The more practice the better. I’ve been talking you up to people. Believe in yourself, Blaine. Don’t fail me.”

“I won’t.”

Blaine turns back to the piano as she leaves. He knows why there’s all this new feeling when he sings. He starts again.

***

“I’m Kurt Hummel, and I’ll be auditioning for the role of Charlie,” Kurt says.

It’s been a long time since he auditioned for anything. The stage lights are bright, the boards firm under his feet. It feels familiar, this dream that he’s put away from himself for so long. But this isn’t the time to examine the many things he’s feeling about being on stage again.

From front of house, Wendy Williams smiles. “Thank you, Kurt,” she says. She’s very put together - shiny hair, bright lips, bright teeth. She indicates the people sitting to her right and left. “This is Matt, our music director, and Unique, who’s one of the principals. We’re very happy to see you. What will you be performing for us?”

“‘Being Alive’ from _Company_.”

The pianist begins to play and the song breaks over him, as it always does. He sang it first seven years ago, before anything, before he’d met Lachlan. He was living in New York with Rachel, auditioning for NYADA and longing for his life to begin.

 __[Somebody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPKZ-8veNn8)crowd me with love.  
Somebody force me to care.  
Somebody let me come through,  
I’ll always be there,  
As frightened as you.

Back then the ‘somebody’ had been largely imaginary. He hadn’t known what the words would mean, what it would take from him to be needed and known and loved by another. He knows now. He wouldn’t give any of it up. Of course he wouldn’t. But knowing is more frightening than not knowing.

As always, the song feels revelatory, singing with his whole heart and now with even more layers of love and fear than it had the last time.

He’s not only looking back to Lachlan. He’s thinking of Blaine up there in the snow, competent and adorable in Kurt’s kitchen, breathlessly perfect in Kurt’s bed. He’s thinking of his bright eyes and his easy joy, his open heart, his beauty. And he can’t escape thinking about the fact that he has a fiance.

“Thank you,” says Wendy. “That was a powerful audition. We’ll be in touch shortly.”

As he walks to the back of the theater, Unique approaches him. “Mr. Kurt Hummel. That was remarkable. Positively gave me chills. You have got to know, I have long been a fan. I went to every single one of your performances when I was a little bitty NYADA student. Ooh boy you were wonderful in _the Tempest_. Even though Shakespeare is a dead white man.”

“Oh. Thank you,” says Kurt. She’s overwhelming but not in a way that makes him feel on edge.  “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing.”

She inclines her head regally and Kurt is charmed, “It will be an honor. Now, what’s the chance you’re heading to the subway and can accompany me?”

“I would be glad to,” says Kurt.

For the first few blocks they entertain one another with stories of theater disasters and great comebacks and where to find a good pair of men’s shoes these days.

“Now and then I slip on a pair of loafers,” says Unique in a stage whisper. “They don’t accentuate my calves like the heels, but they are comfortable.”

“Fashion and comfort,” says Kurt. “Always a complicated line to walk.”

“Where are you staying while you’re in town?” asks Unique.

“I splurged on a hotel in Chelsea,” says Kurt. “This city - I haven’t lived here in three years now and I wanted to make sure I could get some space if the lights and the crowds and the people were too much.”

“And are they?”

Kurt thinks for a moment, “No,” he says with some faint surprise. There are ways in which he feels comfortable here, though the sirens are disconcertingly loud and the people are always so close. Still, it’s not like it was when he first moved and didn’t know if this place he’d dreamed of would ever be home.  

They reach the subway entrance. Unique frowns. “I hate to end things here. But I have a friend who’s in a showcase tonight and I have to go and watch. I haven’t seen him in forever and he’s just divine. Otherwise I’d take you to dinner and ply you with mixed drinks.”

“That’s fine,” says Kurt. He hasn’t arranged things with anyone he knows in the city. Not Rachel or Elliot or Santana. He planned to spend the night by himself, enjoying the aesthetics of his very good hotel. He expected he’d want to.

Unique considers him for an extended moment. “You could come, though. My friend would love you. He’s a charming boy and an incredible performer. It’s a bit of a fancy do.”

Kurt is oddly not opposed to the idea. “There wouldn’t be a space, though. Not at this stage.”

        

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. See, the friend who’s performing, he broke up with his boyfriend about a month ago. And then for a while he wouldn’t let anyone have that spot. We thought he was holding onto it for Knox, that’s the ex.  Which-” She makes a face. “But he never said. Anyway, last I heard, the seat was available and he’d finally seen his way to part with it. So if you want to put on a nice suit and join us-”

Kurt hasn’t taken a breath since about halfway through her speech. He doesn’t answer for a second.

When he does, he says unsteadily, “What’s your friend’s name?”

He doesn’t need to listen to her answer. He looks up at the subway sign, past it to the city lights which are coming to life against the muted sky. This used to be his city.

He turns back to her and smiles. “I’d love to be there,” he says. “Thank you.” It’s ridiculous to think there was ever another option.

**

Kurt steps into the foyer and lets the door close on the biting winds coming down Madison Avenue. He checks his coat at the door and straightens the lapels of his suit — Lachlan’s suit. He’s paired its deep turquoise with a vivid purple dress shirt he bought this evening for the occasion. He knows Lachlan would approve. In itself, that is a pleasure.

“Just through the double doors, sir,” says the coat check guy.

“Thank you,” says Kurt, though he couldn’t have missed the sound of a crowd of chatting theater people.

He braces himself, steps through the doors and tugs his shirt sleeves into perfect alignment as he looks around the room. The place is full of its own past. It feels polished - dark wood and white tablecloths, but the lights are soft. There are lamps on every table, reflecting from the tableware and softening the wall murals. There’s a grand piano. Amongst all the history, a hundred socialites and critics and industry people are milling about in more and less successful designer outfits.

As Kurt walks through, people turn to look at him. They’re mostly the casual glances of people looking for others they know or should know or desperately want to know. But some eyes rest on him thoughtfully and there are new whispers about the room.

There’s not really pity in the glances, just speculation and maybe gossipy interest. Kurt Hummel accustomed himself to that sort of thing long before he ever set foot on a New York stage. He holds his head high. His suit is his armor - striking and lovely, and only his through other people’s love and kindness. There’s no power in the world that would make him turn around and walk back out.

“Kurt,” says a voice at his shoulder. He’s pleased that he doesn’t startle. “What  are you doing here?”

“Santana,” he says. He knows she hears the relief he’s trying to hide. Her eyes are speculative too, but her arm is warm as it takes his. She looks glorious and unstoppable.  “I auditioned for the Wendy Williams role today. Unique invited me to join her here.”

“Of course she did,” says Santana. “Kurt. This is the sort of thing you should tell me. We could be spinning this as a nice little gossip item. You still have cachet with the paps - I could have had a photographer here. Never mind now. I can get something rolled out in the morning. I could drop it in the ear of one of the theater bloggers, they’re all painfully interested or… who’s here or more to the point who knows someone who might be here even if they’re not-”

Kurt’s heart rate has been increasing. “Santana, stop. I’m not here for publicity.”

“Of course you’re not; that’s why you have me to handle it for you.”

Kurt looks her in the eye. “Not tonight, Santana.”

Santana’s expression is put upon. “Publicity is publicity. And how can you deprive your fans of the mystery of Kurt Hummel’s appearance at Cafe Carlyle.

Kurt sighs. “Even you have to admit the truth is fairly mundane. Just a former Broadway performer taking in some new faces.”

“Not former if I have anything to say about it.” She smiles with her teeth and he’s glad she is on his side. “Now come and talk to Jez Prior. He’s been asking after you for years. Taken in by that Hummel charm, and your sweet ass too. He’ll have some new project in the works before you can turn and walk away. Though he may think that’s your best angle.”

Kurt takes a steadying breath and digs his fingernails into his palm, but he follows. He’s perfectly capable of handling Santana on a mission. But he hasn’t been available for her in a long time and he’s mostly coping, so maybe this is the time to go along with her charged brand of promotion.   

He looks around the room as they move across it. “There are a lot of big theater names here,” he says. “Is there a story?”

She shrugs. “For one, it’s June Dolloway. She has money and power and sometimes she shows a scrap of good taste. Plus there’s been some buzz about this little crop. She’s saying one of them has come forward in leaps and bounds in the past weeks. Star material, change the face of Broadway etc etc. I hope she’s right. He’s one of mine.”

“Which explains why you’re here.”

“He’s a good kid.” She tilts her head like a large cat and eyes him as they walk. “In fact, you should meet him.”

Kurt looks away. “I’m beginning to suspect I already have,” he says.

“Hidden depths, Hummel. You have hidden depths. You just need to find someone to plumb them.” She smirks as he glares at her.

At length June steps to the center of the room, quells the chatter with a glance and directs everyone to take their seats. Kurt sits next to Unique at a table with Blaine’s friends. June’s already introducing the showcase. There’s no time for introductions.

“We have something very special for you tonight,” June says and Kurt stops listening as Blaine walks to the piano. It’s the first time Kurt has seen him in six weeks. He thought he might have forgotten how Blaine looked. He hadn’t. But he still wasn’t prepared for the visual of Blaine in a tuxedo under these golden lights.

Blaine smiles at June as she finishes. “Thank you all for coming,” he says into the microphone leaning over the piano. His voice is warm. “And so much more than thank you to June, who is everything I want to be when I grow up: surrounded by the finest art and music, yet always willing to help people and encourage new voices.”

The little improvised tune Blaine’s playing shifts into “Under My Skin.”  

“We’re going to start with some American Songbook for you, and then move on to some pop and the songs we hope will be standards for our grandchildren.”

 __[I’ve got you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XCVnV5CGh0)under my skin.  
I’ve got you deep in the heart of me-  
So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me  


When Blaine sings his voice has a relaxed confidence. He toys with the time signature, winks cheerfully at June, and charms the room.  He is doing something he loves and it is a delight to watch. Kurt can’t look away.

In the cabin, Blaine was bright as the sun. He fit. He might fit anywhere, or it might just feel like it to Kurt. But even though he fit he was not in his element.  Here in New York, Blaine is polished and perfect. He’s clearly well-rehearsed. He’s effortlessly charming. And he’s something altogether more.

_I would sacrifice anything come what might_  
 _For the sake of having you near_

Kurt is aware of the moment Blaine sees him. There’s something that shifts in the set of his head. Over the piano his eyes meet Kurt’s. Kurt’s heart stutters.

Of course, Blaine is the definitive performer. He never falters. The music continues without a stumble. Blaine’s voice steps lightly over every note.

Still, Kurt feels the intensity of their connection all the way across the room. A second singer joins in, and a third. The harmonies rise and fall. And while Blaine sings to the room, every word curls around Kurt’s heart.

As the song ends, Kurt joins in with the enthusiastic applause. He knows his eyes are bright. He blinks, hoping he doesn’t look too enraptured.

The music starts again, and Unique touches the back of his hand. “He’s good, isn’t he?” She doesn’t need to tell him which singer she’s referring to.

“Yes,” says Kurt. “He truly is.”

She smiles at him then puts her chin in her hand as the other singers start to trade verses on “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You”.

Kurt is left free to watch Blaine, to watch and try not to think. He’s not sure there’s anything he can afford to think about here. There’s Blaine, and that’s new and maybe best without too much thought. There’s also a crowded room, there are reporters and critics, people ready to ask Kurt questions to which he has no answer. This is the very place he’s avoided. But there are other things in the room too - things that make him proud - talent and joy in performance, designer clothes and people who count Garland at the Grove as an essential album. There’s the future of music and theater.

Kurt watches Blaine move about the floor. He’s a dream, really, all sweetness and poise. In his voice are all the things Blaine’s clearlyspent countless hours rehearsing. They entwine with the things Blaine means with the whole of his heart.

Kurt doesn’t think he’ll ever want to take his eyes off Blaine. There are things Kurt wants here. Wanting is brave and bright and simply terrible.


	9. Chapter 9

There’s actually, genuinely no way Blaine could imagine a better night. There were a couple of notes that could have been purer or stretched longer. There were a couple of steps that weren’t as crisp as he’d done them in rehearsal. But all of that fades away in the applause, in having everyone’s eyes on him, and in Kurt, here like something from another world and unexpectedly bringing a dazzling kind of hope with him.

Blaine sits in front of the piano for his final solo. The room stills and the lights settle on him. He leans into the piano as he plays the opening chords.  

_[I’ve been out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wd5fe2Km7MU) on the ocean._   
_Sailing alone, traveling nowhere._

He’s not sure he felt these things before Kurt.  

_You’ve been running on hard ground.  
With just you around, your heart beats the only sound._

Of course, the words aren’t intended for Kurt, except in the embarrassing way that these days everything he sings is for Kurt. But that doesn’t stop him being intensely aware that Kurt’s here.

When he finishes, he moves away from the piano and joins the other two performers for the last song. Blaine listens as the others begin the backing section, then he lifts his voice for the first verse.

__[Another year](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZf-SDxwA20) you made a promise  
Another chance to turn it all around  
And do not save this for tomorrow  
Embrace the past and you can live for now  
And I will give the world to you

Kurt is listening, the whole room is listening. Blaine loves this part - touching everyone, filling spaces between people, the unrestrained public joy of singing.

_A million suns that shine upon me, a million eyes you are the brightest blue._

Afterwards he stands to bow. The room rings with applause. This is a place where Sutton Foster and Judy Collins have sung. And now Blaine’s singing here. It’s all so much better than he’d ever dreamed.

When it’s over he wants to make his way straight across the room to Kurt. He wants to ask all the questions, tell him all the ways he has been changed. More than that he wants to touch him and make sure that he’s real. He’s thought about this moment, of course he has. But there’s June in his way, then June’s old friend Langton. There’s Ellie Richter from Artsbeat and Samira Lewis who played the lead in the Ever After musical. Everybody standing between him and Kurt is someone he really should speak with.

When he finally makes it over, Kurt is not alone. Some of the theater mainstays and a few NYADA grads are surrounding him, chatting.

Blaine slows his pace and runs his eyes over Kurt. Kurt’s back is perfectly straight and he has one long leg folded gracefully over the other. He has perfect hair, perfect skin, a perfect suit. He’s beautiful, yes, but he’s more than that. It makes sense that people want his attention here, among the elite of Broadway. He fits. But Blaine has also seen him up there on the mountain. He has seen Kurt traipsing through the snow, chopping wood, pointing out tiny pin-prick stars through his bedroom window, meeting Blaine’s eyes across a fogged-in room. So however much Kurt fits, Blaine is aware he is also out of place.

Kurt looks up quickly and Blaine is caught watching. But Kurt only smiles and stands to excuse himself from the conversation. He keeps his eyes on Blaine as they move toward one another.

“Hi,” Kurt says. “You managed to escape your adoring public.” His eyes are warm. It makes Blaine lightheaded. “I don’t blame them. You were amazing. Your solos were breathtaking.”

“Oh. Thank you,” says Blaine. “Kurt. I can’t believe you’re here. What- Why- H-how are you here?”

Kurt twinkles at him. “I came into the city to audition for a show and then Unique-”

“Unique’s show,” says Blaine. “Of course! You’d be perfect.”

Kurt colors sweetly. “Thank you. Well Unique- She invited me to come tonight.”

Suddenly Blaine **loves** Unique more than ever. “And so you’re here.”

“And so I’m here.”

They look at one another for a long moment. Blaine can’t seem to help it, doesn’t want to tear his eyes away in case Kurt vanishes. In any case, his far too noticeable staring doesn’t seem to bother Kurt.

“And you wore your suit.” Blaine says eventually. He feels sort of reverent with it. “That’s wonderful. Look at you.”

Kurt turns around on one heel, letting Blaine watch. “It’s truly a beautiful piece, Blaine. Thank you so much.”

“It was all Isabelle and Lachlan,” says Blaine. “They’re the ones you should thank.”

Kurt pins him with his clear eyes. “You found it for me. So, thank you.”

They stand in place for another drawn out moment. The crowd is all around them of course, but the noise and movement seems to have faded, as though everything is moving at a different pace from the two of them. Kurt is everything that is clear in the world.

Kurt clears his throat. He looks hesitant as he says, “So, um. You broke up with your fiancé. I heard.”

“Yes,” says Blaine. “Of course I did. That is, I had to. I didn’t want to hurt him but I couldn’t stay. Not when I knew-” He takes a breath. He wants to say this the right way. Kurt looks at him closely. “Kurt. Even if I never saw you again, I couldn’t stay where I was.”

“Oh,” breathes Kurt, eyes still.

There is so much more to say to him. But they’re not alone here and the bubble that seems to be around them can’t last forever.

Sam bounds over. He smiles at Kurt and then speaks to Blaine. “Dude, we’re heading next door for a drink. You’re coming, aren’t you? We’re celebrating you conquering Broadway.”

Blaine tears his focus from Kurt and pulls himself together to speak with someone else. “Hi Sam. So far I haven’t conquered anything. Kurt, this is Sam. Sam, this is Kurt.” Blaine looks at Sam meaningfully. Sam’s the only one of Blaine’s friends who’s heard about Blaine’s Christmas.

“Cool,” says Sam. He reaches to shake Kurt’s hand. “Good to meet you. You should come along next door with Blaine.”

Kurt blinks, surprised. He looks at Blaine. Blaine doesn’t want to push anything here, but he’s pretty sure his eyes are begging Kurt to agree.

“Okay,” says Kurt. He nods slowly. “Why not? That sounds good.” And when Blaine beams Kurt smiles back.

**  

Kurt nurses his drink and takes in the bar. The lighting is warm gold and mobile. It feels like firelight gilding the walls. The place is lovely. It’s also full of more theater people and lively conversations and and all of these eyes. Kurt sits at the bar and listens to a group talk about the lost art of cabaret. Not such a lost art, Kurt would have thought. But the crowd is louder than he’s comfortable with and he’s not really in the mood for an argument with new college grads.

Blaine is in his element. He’s across the room surrounded by people, moving between conversations comfortably. He has a smile for everyone.

But when he looks up his eyes turn immediately to Kurt: as though even in this crowded bar, he knows exactly where Kurt is at all times. It feels strange, after years without the responsibility that goes hand in hand with being known. Still, it’s Blaine. This is something special. And the pleasure of it coils inside Kurt’s belly.  

An unfamiliar guy sits himself comfortably on a bar stool next to Kurt. “Kurt Hummel,” he says. He holds out a hand for Kurt to shake. “I’m Adam Crawford. I’ve been hearing an awful lot about you.”

Kurt tenses a little. “Have you?”

The guy’s face is kind. “All good things, I’m afraid. I’m friends with some of this lot and you have some remarkably convincing fans. Seems like Broadway is missing out with you gone for so long.”

Kurt presses his knee against the bar stool to keep himself steady. This guy is just a guy, a British guy who wants to be friendly. There doesn’t seem to be an agenda behind his words.

Kurt lets himself relax. “I’m hoping to remedy that,” he admits. The hope for a future here in the theater has been growing inside him in the past weeks. Even here among all these people it hasn’t dissipated. 

It’s frightening. But somehow it’s easier to express that hope to a stranger.

Adam nods. “It sounds to me like you won’t have any trouble.” He pauses, considering Kurt. “And Kurt, I know it was a long time ago. But I do need to tell you how terribly sorry I am for your loss.”

There’s a fraction of a moment when Kurt freezes. Then he says, “Thank you.”

They fall into easy conversation about British television and sappy movies and bringing back the early 90s through a cappella music.  

A few minutes later, Blaine approaches. “Kurt, you’ve met Adam,” he says happily. His hand brushes against Kurt’s as he leans beside him against the bar. It almost seems unintentional. But it’s not. Kurt’s heart thumps responsively. Adam takes a look between them and stands.

“Nice to meet you, Kurt. And Blaine, we’ll definitely have a proper chat soon,” he says. “I hope to see you both around town.” He’s humming as he wanders away.

“How are you holding up?” Blaine asks after Adam has left. Kurt considers his answer, but there’s too much caught up in it to say it all.

“I’m okay,” he settles on. Because it’s true. He smiles at Blaine. “I’m glad I’m here.”

That’s also true. Very true. Kurt hasn’t spent the past six weeks waiting around. He’s been busy preparing for his three day trip, preparing for the audition. He needed to fix Rick’s truck and sort out a stalling generator for another neighbor. He’s talked with Shay and planned the vegetable garden. He’s had conversations with Santana about his career and Rachel about Broadway. He’s arranged for Rick and Aisling and the girls to look after Steve for a few days. He hasn’t lacked activity.

But he can’t deny that he’s thought about Blaine: as he’s chosen audition pieces, as he’s walked to the gazebo, as he’s painstakingly selected an outfit then changed the entire thing, as he’s breathed out into the freezing air while watching the stars.

Every quiet activity has seemed like one more thing he wanted to tell Blaine.

“Look,” says Blaine, eyes gold and sincere. He moves closer into Kurt’s space. “There are a couple of people I need to say goodbye to but then I am all yours.”

“Are you indeed?” asks Kurt, quietly.

“You must have noticed.” Blaine looks up at Kurt through his eyelashes. Then he smiles. Kurt wonders if he’ll ever be able to resist smiling back. He hopes he won’t want to.

There are many things to discuss, too many things. But it’s late and Kurt has spent hours watching Blaine sing and move and charm everybody. He’s longing to do more than just make eye contact.

“So,” he ventures, “once you’re finished can I take you to my hotel?”

“Yes, of course,” says Blaine with this warmth that steals Kurt’s breath. “Absolutely yes.”

After Blaine has said his farewells they collect their coats, standing side by side and not touching at all. Kurt doesn’t know if they’re aiming for plausible deniability or if they’re both aware that they won’t be able to stop once they start.

“How close is the hotel?” asks Blaine.

Kurt exhales with a smile. “Not close enough.”

They take a cab. By the time they get there, Kurt’s skin is buzzing with suppressed desire.

The desk clerk grins as they call the elevator. Kurt can understand why. Blaine’s still in his tuxedo but he’s loosened his bow tie and it’s draped around his neck like an invitation. He looks decadent.

They lean their backs against the far wall of the elevator. Kurt can’t help but be aware of the fact that they are alone. Again. Finally. The proximity and possibility of it twists in his lungs and makes him ache to reach for Blaine and never stop.

Instead he keeps a space between them. But Blaine lifts his hand as though he can’t stand not to touch Kurt.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says.

He tangles their fingers together, traces the outline of Kurt’s palm. He runs the back of his hand up Kurt’s arm. Even through his jacket, the contact vibrates through Kurt’s blood and echoes in Kurt’s spine.

Kurt turns to face Blaine and takes Blaine’s wrist in his hand, holding it close to Blaine’s side, holding Blaine still.

Blaine’s chest rises and falls. His eyes are dark on Kurt.  Wanting might be terrible, but Kurt can’t breathe with how much he wants this.

“Wait,” says Kurt. “Just wait. Unless we’re really going to fuck right here.” He tilts a smile at Blaine.

Blaine narrows his eyes and leans closer. “There’s an emergency stop button behind you,” he says slowly. “And to be honest, Kurt, I don’t care where you fuck me.”

Kurt huffs out a laugh. “I have a very nice room,” he says into Blaine’s ear, “with a very nice bed and a very nice floor and a very nice shower. Believe me, we have options.”


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt holds open the door to his hotel room as Blaine slips past. It’s dark through the window, but the lights come on and the wall art and furnishings are bright, the sheets crisp and white. So here they are. Kurt closes the door and leans against it, watching Blaine take a few steps into the room.

Whatever they do, this is no longer two people with no intentions and no chance of a future.

Blaine turns back to face Kurt. There’s a moment of hesitation in which their eyes meet, before Blaine smiles and drops his eyes to the floor. His cheeks are pink. It’s the kind of softness and sunshine Kurt hasn’t even tried to resist since he first saw this boy. Kurt steps forward and leans close. Blaine’s lips open sweetly under his.

Even though they’ve done this before, this is today, it’s New York and maybe it’s a whole new start.

They kiss for a long time - hand to waist, hand in hair, hand on jaw, standing in the center of the hotel room. When Kurt steps back to catch his breath, Blaine looks a little dazed. Kurt’s fairly sure he looks the same.

“It’s been a long day,” says Kurt. “We could take a shower?”

Blaine just nods. He watches as Kurt removes his jacket, unbuttons his shirt with steady fingers. Blaine’s eyes follow Kurt’s hands as he undoes his fly and slides out of his pants.

“Shower,” says Blaine at last. “Sure.”

He’s already inarticulate. Kurt is just longing to take him apart.

“Hurry up then,” says Kurt. “I’ll get it ready for us.” He drapes his pants over a chair and turns toward the bathroom, naked. Years ago he learned to be confident in his body. With Blaine he is more than that. He is certain, entirely aware of Blaine’s eyes on him as he makes his way to the bathroom. Behind him he hears Blaine undress and race to follow.

The shower steams up quickly. Between the tiles and the glass wall, the water spills over them, touches Kurt everywhere. They wash quickly, make themselves clean and soapy, watching one another through the humid air. Then Blaine steps up against Kurt and kisses him, his strong hands and compact body crowding Kurt and all the water running over him. He’s glorious. It’s glorious, wet skin on wet skin, but it’s also too much. It’s too much water, too much warmth. Too much person everywhere.

“Hold on,” says Kurt and Blaine shifts backward swiftly.  

“Kurt?” he asks. He is sweet, worried and as stunning here as he’s ever been.

Kurt hastens to reassure him. “No, just. I needed to catch my breath.” He kisses Blaine’s lips to make his point, drinks the water from them as it runs down their faces. “It’s a lot. You and -.” He moves back to touch Blaine’s skin gently. “A lot,” he says again. He smooths his hands down Blaine’s arms and over his waist, exploring Blaine’s skin slowly. Then he leans forward to lick the water from Blaine’s chest. He runs his tongue across Blaine’s shoulder and down to lap at a nipple. The nipple hardens. Blaine shudders responsively.  

Kurt straightens up and pushes Blaine gently backward against the tiles. Blaine gasps as his back contacts the cool wall.  

“Is this okay?” Kurt asks and kneels down at his feet.

“Of course, yes,” Blaine says. “Kurt.” His voice shakes.

Kurt runs his tongue over the head of Blaine’s cock then opens his mouth to take him in. The water washes over his back and head and down his face. He closes his eyes and starts to work Blaine over with his lips and tongue. He breathes carefully through his nose, then takes Blaine deeper inside, sucking in his cheeks for more contact, letting Blaine’s cock stretch and fill his mouth. Blaine’s hips shift forward as he cries out. Kurt glances up for a moment then closes his eyes and loses himself in the taste and sound of Blaine.

He’s brought back to himself by Blaine’s gasp. “This is all-” he says, “Kurt. God. This is all very very -ah - good but this will be over very soon if you don’t stop now.”

Kurt smiles around Blaine’s cock, considers his options, then pulls away. He lets Blaine’s cock spring out of his mouth and Blaine moans as contact is lost. “Okay,” he says.

He longs to drown in this boy. There’s water everywhere so he just might if he’s not careful. He looks up, keeping careful eye contact with Blaine, trying to learn everything he needs to know. “Will you turn around for me?” he asks. “I’ll… I’ll stay down here if you’re comfortable with that.”

Blaine’s eyes widen a little but he nods. He turns to the wall, leaning forward and bracing himself on his arms. Kurt moans at the sight of him. He lifts his hands to spread Blaine’s cheeks apart and leans to bury his face in Blaine’s crack. He licks at his hole, careful little laps at first, then lathing it with his tongue. There’s water everywhere, running past his mouth through Blaine’s crack. He feels Blaine’s rim relaxing under his tongue. Kurt turns for a second to take a breath then presses his face into Blaine and pierces Blaine’s hole with his tongue. Blaine’s needy little gasps turn into a long low moan and his hips buck backward against Kurt’s face. Kurt keeps wetly sweeping his tongue and then impaling Blaine with it until Blaine’s moans turn into soft sobs and begging.

Kurt pulls back. “More?” he asks, feeling powerful.

“Yes, Kurt. Anything.”

“Be patient,” says Kurt on almost a moan. He wants to fill Blaine now; he doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to make Blaine wait either, not with how desperately he’s asking for it. But he’d like to do this on a bed rather than negotiating lube and a condom in all this water.

“Hold on to everything you’re thinking,” Kurt says.

“Okay.”  

Kurt gets to his feet and turns off the shower. He grabs towels and wraps Blaine in one then pushes him out the door and toward the bed.

Blaine is gorgeous and pliant, all soft eyes and yielding muscle. Kurt lowers him onto his back on the bed. Everything is a little less urgent, though no less vital. Kurt takes the time to look his fill. He runs his hands over Blaine’s face and down his body, wraps a fist around Blaine’s cock where it curves up over his belly and squeezes making Blaine moan.

Kurt’s skin feels cool where the air moves over his damp body and warm where he’s touching Blaine. They kiss, sure and infinitely promising.

Kurt reaches into the drawer for the condom and lube the hotel supplied. He lifts his body up to give Blaine room to move. Blaine hikes up his legs, holding his knees and spreading his body wide. He’s already almost open and ready to be fucked. Kurt gives a half groan and presses two lubed fingers into him steadily.

“It’s okay,” Blaine manages. “I just want you right inside me.”

Kurt meets Blaine’s eyes as he draws his fingers out. Blaine rocks his hips then stills as Kurt moves over his body, slides in smooth, and slow, and agonizingly sweet until his balls are pressed close against Blaine’s ass. Then Kurt stops. He holds his body there. Blaine twines his limbs around Kurt, panting beneath him and so tight inside. It’s almost an agony to resist just fucking into him but Kurt holds himself back. He leans forward and they breathe one breath, explore with lips and open mouths and tongue. It feels ancient and intimate and dizzyingly new. And all the time Kurt is still and deep, so deep inside Blaine. There’s no beginning and ending, just the two of them.  

Then Blaine rocks his hips upwards and Kurt grunts with the effort, feels his hips shake. He almost can’t stop himself from thrusting inside Blaine.

Blaine rocks his hips again. “Come on, Kurt. Come on, beautiful. You’ve got me. Please fuck me. Please.”

Kurt lifts his hips and begins to move, pulling his cock out of Blaine’s ass then thrusting further inside. Blaine writhes beneath him, his cock pinned between them and pushing up against Kurt’s belly. Their moans blend as Kurt thrusts and thrusts and every tremor that runs through Blaine’s body surrounds him.

When Blaine comes he throws his head back. It’s a delicious release to hear him cry out, feel him gush between them. Kurt thrusts deeper and rougher. He lets go and the sensation shudders down his arms and spine and explodes bright and fierce inside him. He drops his body against Blaine, trembling with exertion and relief. He wants to sob.

“It’s never felt like this. Not for me,” says Blaine. He wraps Kurt back in his arms, and holds on. Kurt never wants to let go.

**

Blaine wakes to Kurt’s sleepy smile and his lovely body, laid out on the sheets of the hotel bed. Blaine runs his eyes over Kurt’s waist and long limbs, then meets his eyes. Kurt blinks slowly.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft with sleep.

“Hi,” says Blaine. He aches in the best way. He stretches his shoulders out and rolls his neck as Kurt watches, then leans to press a kiss to Kurt’s forehead, another to his cheek, one to his lips. Kurt arches against him and shifts his legs against one another between the sheets. Blaine exhales, drops his weight a little as Kurt kisses him.  

“So,” says Kurt when they break apart, “I’m here tonight and tomorrow night. And I wondered if I could ask you to have dinner with me.”

Blaine half laughs. “A date?” he says, kissing his way up Kurt’s jaw line. His heart leaps at the normalcy of the idea.

Kurt hums with pleasure under Blaine’s lips. “Mmmm. A date,” he says. “A first date. At a nice place, or as nice as I can find at late notice. I might as well take advantage of the fact that I’m in New York. I have a lot of suits and I haven’t had a chance to wear them.”

“Sure,” says Blaine. He has no plans that he wouldn’t cancel for time with Kurt. “Of course. And that’s why we’re going on this date? So you have a chance to wear a nice suit?” He goes back to kissing Kurt’s neck and showing Kurt all the ways he’s already memorized his body.

“Well that-” Kurt is smirking and amused but he breaks off under Blaine’s ministrations, his eyes tipping closed. “-That was the main reason,” he manages.

“Not that I’m objecting,” says Blaine drawing back. Kurt lifts himself onto his elbows to chase after Blaine’s lips. “I have seen you in a suit.”

They kiss for a few minutes longer, wrapping themselves around each other until Blaine’s stomach rumbles. Then Kurt breaks away laughing. 

“Breakfast?”

Blaine knows they need to face the rest of the world, but it still feels daunting to do so. He’s aware that he doesn’t know Kurt’s long term or even short term plans, aware that those plans could lead them apart. It feels safe here, wrapped up in Kurt.

Still his stomach has other thoughts. It growls.

“Okay, okay.” He kisses Kurt again before he climbs out of Kurt’s bed.

They breakfast together at the diner half a block away, inhaling coffee and gleefully sharing carb-loaded meals.

After they’ve paid the bill, Kurt says, “I don’t even know what I’ll do on Broadway. Eight shows a week. It’s been a long time since I’ve managed that. But I guess I’ll cross that bridge if I get the role.”

“Unique says it’s going to be a limited run.”

“That’s what they tell me. Which makes it manageable.”

“And then?” prompts Blaine carefully. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“And then, I don’t know,” says Kurt. He looks apologetic.  

“Okay.” Blaine nods.

Blaine is confident in himself, in his connection with Kurt. But he has to be careful of this. His heart feels like it’s leaping ahead of any actual plans. Then again, they’ve known each other for all of four days, in person.  He can wait until the sixth or seventh day to start thinking of a future.

He says, quiet and calm, “You don’t need a plan, Kurt. Not now. And not for me. Not ever if you don’t want one. You can just see what happens.”

The wind is cold, a mountain wind, and it turns Kurt’s cheeks pink and brightens his eyes. Blaine has never seen anything so gorgeous.  

Kurt glances sideways and catches his eye. “I love winter in New York,” he says. He takes a careful breath before going on. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing it in summer too.”

Blaine imagines a summer here with Kurt - sidewalk eating, reading scripts in Central Park, stumbling across Ornette Coleman or members of the Metropolitan Opera in Rumsey Playfield.

Kurt takes his hand as they walk up the street. It feels like more of a promise than Blaine dared to hope for.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Corinna and podklb are exceptional and generous and their different approaches made this chapter far stronger than it would have been._
> 
>  
> 
> _This is the final chapter, just an epilogue to go._

There’s a difference between being caught up in a cabin with someone, and sitting down for a meal in New York City. There’s a difference between tumbling into bed, however willingly, and the clear-headed decision to step into a restaurant on a date. Kurt slows down as he walks up Tenth Avenue. It’s not that he’s hesitant about this. But it matters. He doesn’t want things to fly by so fast that he misses them.

He catches his reflection in the glass as he reaches the doors - just for a moment. His hair is in place above his Westwood suit and purple tie. Everything’s changed but somehow he looks the same.

He’s right on time as he opens the door.

The restaurant is quirky and inviting. The maitre d’ leads him through the room. Blaine is already seated. He half rises as Kurt approaches, smiling a welcome as the maitre d’ pulls out a chair. Blaine is a perfect gentleman; he’s wearing a gentleman’s berry suit and checked bow tie. He’s both classically elegant and ridiculously adorable. It surprises Kurt over and over, how very adorable he is.

After the preliminaries of drinks and menus and ‘sparkling, still or tap’, they are quiet. Kurt hasn’t seen Blaine in a day and a half. He’s spent the time meeting up with Rachel, visiting Isabelle’s studio, checking that he can stay in Elliot’s spare room for a time if he needs to. His friends are wonderful. He feels loved and wanted. But he also feels surrounded and slightly worn thin with it all.

And now, he’s here. On a date. With Blaine. Even in so short a time, being in Blaine’s company has attained a kind of ease. Kurt’s heart thrills to see him; it also settles. There’s space to breathe. But then Blaine meets his eyes across the table, and he forgets how.

“I haven’t been on many first dates,” Blaine starts, “and none like this.” He folds his hands together on the table. Kurt knows those hands, has seen them against his skin.

Blaine continues, “However much I know already, there are a million things I don’t. So, Kurt Hummel, my amazing new friend. Tell me the things I need to know about you.”

Kurt is amused. He is also touched. “What do you want to know?”

“Okay. Let’s start… not at the very beginning. The middle. How was high school for you?”

Kurt flashes back to McKinley, to the halls and the choir room and the dumpsters. To Mercedes and Rachel and Finn and Mike. To David Karofsky and Mr. Schuester and Sue Sylvester. To glee club.

“It was… god, really the whole of high school?  That’s a long story.”

“We have plenty of time.” Blaine sits forward.  

“It was- fine. I mean, I guess high school was never going to be my safe place. For a long time I was the only out gay kid at my school. And I was interested in theater and fashion. Of course it was tough. It was sometimes- I hate to think of any kid going through what I did. But I was lucky. I had friends. I had my brother, my dad, my stepmom. And then there was our high school glee club. I felt lonely sometimes…” He thinks. “I felt lonely often, but in the end I wasn’t really alone.”

Blaine’s face scrunches sympathetically. “I hate that you dealt with that all by yourself. And I was just a county over.  We could have known one another. We could have been friends.”

“You weren’t even in high school when I graduated,” says Kurt with a laugh.

“I would have been inspired by you.” Blaine’s eyes are sincere, sparklingly so.

Kurt feels gratified. He lifts his chin. “Unquestionably. I was quite the inspiration. And my equestrian chic phase could have used more admirers.”

“I just wish we’d met,” says Blaine firmly.

Kurt smiles at him. Blaine wishes for things so easily. And yet, however much more complicated wishing feels to Kurt, he doesn’t feel broken in Blaine’s company. “I imagine you were very handsome in your blazer,” Kurt says. “I’d like to have seen that.”

Their thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of their food.

After swallowing a first mouthful of the lobster crudo, Kurt says, “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Ask away.”

Kurt pauses. He wants to know every single thing about this boy.

They talk about Blaine’s reasons for moving to New York, about Kurt’s dad’s shop, his worries about his dad’s health, about Blaine’s time at NYADA, about their boyhood dreams, about bow ties and old movies and fantasy vacations and Ohio and Tom Ford’s fall line. It’s remarkable that they have time to eat.

“This restaurant is perfect,” says Blaine as a waiter clears their plates. “I thoroughly approve  of your choice.”

Kurt inclines his head. “Thank you. I used to love this place.” He looks around at the timber and red and white, at the art on the walls and the hanging lanterns.  When he looks back Blaine is watching him gently.

“You haven’t mentioned Lachlan. At all, tonight.” He looks at Kurt like it was a question.

“I’m not avoiding-” Kurt pauses to think. “I guess I could be avoiding it a little. But I don’t want- not everything is about the fact that my husband died.”

“No,” says Blaine. The moment stretches out.

“Some things are, though,” says Kurt, because it’s true. Lachlan is a part of tonight, even.

“Did you ever come here with him?”

Kurt smiles slightly. “Yes. Yes I did. He loved the rhubarb crisp. Something about a particular kind of mint.”

Blaine’s look is sweet and warm. “That being the case, should we see the dessert menu?”

“Absolutely,” says Kurt. It seems significant but not in a way that hurts exactly. He smiles. “In the old days there was this cheesecake I would give up my first-born for.”

They decide to share the cheesecake. Kurt regrets this decision as soon as it arrives. Not because the cheesecake is worse than he remembered. But because he wants it all. Blaine watches as Kurt licks the spoon.

“Enjoying it?” he asks. His eyes are dark.

Kurt leans forward and lowers his voice. “I’ll trade you an incredible blow job for your half.”

“God. Kurt. You can’t just say that.” Blaine’s gaze drops to Kurt’s lips. “It would so be worth it.”

“You haven’t tried this cheesecake.”

Blaine keeps his voice low. “No, but I have had your mouth around me. I’d give up almost anything to have that again.”

Kurt grins and leans across the table to kiss Blaine. He likes Blaine enough that he shares dessert anyway.   

“You could come back to my hotel,” says Kurt as they stand to go. “If you’d like.”

“I’d love to,” says Blaine. “Thank you.” His manners are impeccable. It makes Kurt  wriggle happily on the inside. Then Blaine goes on, “After all, there are some surfaces we haven’t tested out.”

The promise in it shivers up and down Kurt’s spine.

As they leave, Blaine rests his hand at the small of Kurt’s back and ushers him into the street. “Thank you,” they say to the maitre d’ almost in unison as they leave. There’s an intimacy in ordinary things.

Kurt’s phone rings as soon as they reach the street. He looks at it and frowns thoughtfully.

He shrugs an apology to Blaine. “Santana,” he answers. “Hello.”

“You got it, Kurt,” says Santana with no pleasantries. “The role with Wendy Williams’ show. They called tonight. It’s yours.”

Kurt is speechless.

“It’s a short run,” she says.

“That sounds perfect,” says Kurt.

“You can sign the contract tomorrow, if it looks okay.” There’s a silence. Then she says, “So. Kurt Hummel. Do you want to make a comeback?”.

“I ...” It bubbles inside him. Kurt feels tears prick in his eyes. A short run, a role that’s made for him. It’s the perfect way to dip his feet into the theater world. “Absolutely I do.”

“That was your first audition in three years. You’ve still got it. They loved you,” she says quietly. “So tell me, am I the best fucking agent ever?”

“Santana Lopez, you are the best agent ever,” says Kurt.

When he hangs up, he tips his face to the New York sky and blinks back tears. Above him the stars are invisible among all the light, but the city is dazzling.  When he looks across, Blaine is beaming.

“I got it,” says Kurt.

“I knew you would. Kurt, I’m so happy for you.”

Blaine is almost vibrating. It’s strange and lovely to have all that happiness directed his way. It makes things bigger; it also makes them easier.

When Kurt reaches out and takes Blaine’s hand, Blaine’s smile grows even brighter. They tangle their fingers together as they walk toward Kurt’s hotel. Kurt misses the mountains, misses the solitude, misses the endless views of trees and stars. But in some ways, New York feels like home.

**

They’re in Sam’s apartment for the afternoon - Sam and Blaine’s apartment now. Blaine is cross-legged on his bed with sheet music laid out in front of him, while Kurt runs over notes from rehearsals at the little desk.

“I need to go through this section one more time to get it right for tomorrow,” says Blaine. “Will that bother you?”

“No, not at all. I’m done here. How many notes do they think they need on one song after two full months of rehearsals?”

“Especially when I know you’re already perfect.” says Blaine with a wink. It’s less than a week until the world gets to see Kurt on stage again. Blaine can’t wait.

Kurt watches Blaine closely. “Nail this audition and I’ll get to feel the same way,” he says.

Blaine nods as he thinks through the starting pitch and starts singing.

_[Don't](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTE1Kh1NTEE)dance all night with me_   
_Till the stars fade from above._   
_They'll see it's alright with me_   
_People will say we're in love._

Toward the end Kurt joins in with a harmony. It sounds wonderful. They’re learning all the ways their voices fit together.

“Sorry,” Kurt says as they finish. “I know this is your audition. I couldn’t help myself. I sort of wish we’d been singing together forever.” He shrugs.

“You never ever need to apologize for singing with me.” Blaine thinks for a moment. “Do you know 'Baby it’s Cold Outside'?” he asks. “I sang it once at the Tarrytown Christmas Spectacular. It’ll be better singing with you, though.”

Kurt’s eyes are bright with laughter as he starts in easily, [_I really can’t stay_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFufE3mCTyU). Blaine rushes to keep up. _But baby it’s cold outside_. They end up giggling, perched next to one another on the edge of the bed, charmed and happy.

Blaine leans across to kiss Kurt.

Sometimes he feels greedy. He longs to be everyone that Kurt has ever loved.  But there’s nothing that’s not happy in this.

“We need to make a Christmas duet album,” says Kurt, breaking away breathlessly. “Even though it’s not Christmas.” He holds Blaine’s gaze and for a moment Blaine thinks they’re going to kiss again. But then Kurt stands and moves toward the window. “You’re in shape for the audition. It’s going to be incredible, Blaine. I’ve been thinking about what you should wear. It can be key to your success. My thinking is you can get away with something that has a subtle check for “Oklahoma!”, but not a real plaid. Far too obvious. I’ll pull something out for you?”

Blaine blinks. Kurt knows so much about Broadway and about fashion. It leaves Blaine frozen between the ease of letting Kurt direct him in this and the fear that if he gives up all control now, he’ll someday find himself letting Kurt choose everything.

He says, slowly, “No, don’t worry. I think I can handle it, Kurt.”

“Okay,” says Kurt but goes on. “Don’t choose anything RM Williams of course. And that Brooks Brother plaid is right out. Seriously, I wouldn’t mind helping.”

Blaine shakes his head to clear it. He’s nervous about the audition, which is probably part of why he feels more exasperated than the situation warrants.

“No,” he says. “Really.”

It’s not like any of this matters, exactly. Kurt’s right about the Brooks Brothers shirt. And RM Williams. In any case, Blaine would happily listen to Kurt’s opinions on clothing, on most things, all day. But Blaine can’t just move straight from relying on the opinions of one guy to relying on the opinions of another. He’s just getting accustomed to trusting himself again.

“It’s fine, really. But thank you, Kurt,” he says. His voice sounds brittle to his own ears.

Kurt shrugs. “Okay.” He looks at Blaine with a little frown. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine. Now, you’ll be taking the 1 down to the audition space. It’ll be peak hour too. You could stand to get there a little early. I’d get going by eight. And remember what Rachel and Adam said about auditioning for this guy. Don’t be too self-effacing. You can seem a bit eager to please. I think you should focus on projecting confidence.”

Kurt’s being kind. Of course he is. But it’s an onslaught.

Blaine has experience auditioning too. He needs to be able to rely on his own instincts here. But Kurt’s opinions are so strongly held and clear in his head that they become impossible to ignore.

He feels powerless. “Stop. Kurt. Are you going to tell me how to cross the street too?” There’s an edge to his voice that he doesn’t intend.

Kurt looks surprised. “I was just- you know I have some useful experience in this.”

Blaine stands up. He feels wrong-footed and foolish with it, but he can’t stop. “I know, Kurt, but I’m not a child. I appreciate your input but I can catch the train and choose my own clothes. Don’t stand there and treat me like I couldn’t get by without you.”

“What. That’s not what I’m-” Kurt looks completely dumbfounded. “What are you even-”  

Blaine interrupts. “I might not be idolized on Broadway, but I’m not stupid, Kurt. I’ve survived 24 whole years without you.”

Kurt’s eyes flash. “What, you were a very independent toddler, were you?”

“You know what I mean,” Blaine says.

“I do know, and I think you’re being ridiculous. I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m trying to be helpful,” says Kurt crisply.

Blaine knows. “I know.”

“Then stop attacking me and see if we can be adults about this. Just be reasonable.”

Blaine’s anger boils and overflows. “Fine. I’ll get right on it when you stop being so controlling.”

He turns on his heel to leave the room. Behind him he hears Kurt’s outraged huff of air.

Blaine looks back from the bedroom door. The late afternoon sun catches Kurt’s upswept hair and perfect cheekbones and outlines them in gold. He’s still and lovely and entirely infuriating.

From the window, Kurt’s eyes shift to meet Blaine’s. “Blaine,” he says. “Fuck.” But his voice is gentle. He shakes his head and exhales softly through his nose.

There’s a long pause. Kurt watching Blaine, Blaine watching Kurt.

Blaine breaks it. “What?” he asks into the quiet. “What are you thinking?”

It feels brave to even ask. Because for a moment Blaine is certain that Kurt is thinking about Lachlan, thinking how they never fought. Thinking about how Lachlan knew his own mind but somehow always agreed with Kurt.Thinking about his perfect, straight hair.

Blaine can never live up to the Lachlan in his own imagination.

Kurt half smiles tentatively. “I was thinking that I don’t want to forget this. Or anything.” He looks around the room, then back to Blaine. “It can all disappear in an instant. And I don’t want to only remember the days when everything's easy between us. I want to remember this, too. I want to remember every single thing.”

Blaine feels his anger slump into something utterly different.  “I’m sorry,” he says.

One day he’ll explain all the ways he’s afraid of losing part of himself again. But probably not right now, the day before an audition.

Kurt speaks up. “I do get it. I know I need to try not to steamroll you.” It’s not an apology exactly, but it’s a relief to be understood. “We’re going to fight sometimes, though,” Kurt says. “But we’ll get through it. I don't  want to lose you.”   

Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand and pulls him closer. He’d love to promise that Kurt has nothing to worry about. That he’ll never lose Blaine. That Blaine would never let himself be lost. But they both know it’s not the kind of thing you can promise.

“I love you,” Blaine says, instead.

It’s the first time he’s said it to Kurt, though it feels as though it’s been there inside him forever.  

Kurt steps forward, moves into Blaine’s arms. “I love you, too.”

**

It’s Kurt’s opening night.

Blaine honestly thinks he could watch him on stage forever. As long as someone brought him food and drink regularly, and arranged restroom breaks. He might need to shower too. Still. Forever wouldn’t be long while Kurt was singing.

The show is wonderful. It’s the music of the era, but as Kurt and Unique and the rest of the cast sing, it seems timeless. Life in wartime just aches. It’s horribly fragile. Never knowing if your one true love is coming home.

Unique sounds and looks amazing. Of course. And Kurt. His voice fills the space beautifully. Even if Blaine weren’t head over heels in love, he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from his face, from his long legs and slim precise lines in the air force uniform.

Kurt strolls across the stage. His Charlie is young and gorgeous, light on his feet and unbearably sure of himself. But he’s alone.

_[I thought](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6dUkkjPI_I) the day you left me behind_   
_I'd take a stroll and get you right off my mind_   
_But now I find that_   
_I don't want to walk without the sunshine_   
_Why'd you have to turn off all that sunshine_

Blaine feels Isabelle’s quick glance from the seat beside him. He doesn’t want to look away from the stage, so he reaches for her hand and squeezes it. They’ve become close over the past few months.

When the song finishes he lets go of her hand and joins in the applause.

There are going to be many more nights like this. People will watch this brief run, and beg for Kurt to play Freddie Trumper or Peter Pan or to originate the role of a modern Michelangelo in the show they’ve written specifically for Kurt, inspired by everything that’s magical about him.

The band is playing again. Unique and Kurt move across the stage, singing to others.

_[At last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9LJUCPZojM) _   
_My love has come along_   
_My lonely days are over_   
_And life is like a song_

Blaine blinks up at them.

He’s imagined Kurt’s Tony acceptance speech. Perhaps the year after next. Kurt will be well-established, a true star. Everyone will love him. And he’ll fight for a role that challenges their views of him.

The industry will reward him. At Radio City, Kurt will be charming and perfectly turned out in a designer suit. Everyone will laugh at his jokes. And then he’ll grow serious. He’ll speak to the significance of the role. People will cheer and wipe away tears. Finally, he’ll thank the director, his castmates, Santana and his team, and last but not least the man he’s promised to spend forever beside.

And then a year later it will be Blaine’s turn to accept the award. And he’ll thank his husband and the love of his life.

Of course, it might not happen quite like that. But all of it will happen. Blaine’s sure of it.

**

Kurt leaves the stage after the final curtain call, the applause of the crowd ringing after him.

Unique hugs him rapturously. "Spectacular show," she says. “I was remarkable. You were breathtaking.” She is glowing. In the months of rehearsal, their friendship has grown into something Kurt holds dear. There’s nothing frantic or brittle about Unique.

It feels like the applause is still all around him as he enters the dressing room. It’s  wonderful - rebuilding his dreams, being valued.

It also feels like it’s wearing him out.

Tonight he put everything inside of him on display and it was cherished, yes, but he can’t take it back.  There’s a room full of people waiting for him and even if everything they say is kind, he’s not sure he has anything left to give them.

He’s well aware that in three years of living alone on the mountain, the solitude became a habit and his safeguard.

Blaine knocks then looks around the dressing room door.  “You dressed?” he asks.  He walks in, watching Kurt with thoughtful eyes and that beautiful smile. His presence is soothing, its own kind of safeguard.

Rachel enters behind him. Blaine kisses Kurt quietly and stands close by his side while Rachel hugs Kurt with all the feeling in her tiny body.

“You were wonderful,” she says. “Now listen to me. I’ve opened five shows now and I know what it’s like. Whatever you do, don’t let yourself worry about reviews. My first opening I was petrified. You remember. You had to cut me off from the world. I’m not saying you weren’t wonderful. You were. Your reviews will be first rate. I’m sure of it. Mine were. But if they’re not, you can’t let it touch you. You’re  the most talented person I know, besides me. You’re more than what anyone says.”

Kurt doesn’t point out this is not his first opening. He understands her intentions.

“Thank you so much for coming, Rach,” he says.

It is kind of her to be here. She’s a genuine Broadway star.  A whirlwind of success. Everyone wants a piece of the Rachel Berry phenomenon. The producers were thrilled to have her in the front row with Blaine.

“And thank you for the flowers,” he says. They’re huge, dwarfing Blaine’s more discreet crimson and yellow roses.

There’s a knock at the door and Unique enters. “Rachel Barbra Berry,” she says, “I am thrilled to meet you.”

Rachel smiles happily. “Oh thank you,” she says. “I truly enjoyed your performance tonight. And the duet on At Last,” she turns her head to include Kurt. “I teared up,” she says. “Honestly.”

Unique starts talking about all the shows she’s seen Rachel in, distracting Rachel for a blissful moment.

Blaine leans closer to Kurt. “I tried to make her stay outside with your dad and Carole,” he says. “But Rachel is very, very persistent. In a way I was impressed by her tenacity.”

Kurt smiles at him. “It’s one of her greatest and most maddening assets.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hands. His eyes are gold. “You, Kurt. You were amazing. Perfect. No one even dared to blink while you were on stage. I was just so proud to be with you.”

Kurt lets the relief and joy of Blaine’s presence sink into him.  

“Thank you. So much. It was good, wasn't it. And that is exactly how I’m going to feel when you open as Curly next month.” Blaine blushes. It makes Kurt’s heart skip.

“How are you holding up?” asks Blaine. “You okay to go out there and face the crowds?”

Kurt nods. “I’ll be fine,” he says. It’s mostly true, especially with Blaine here. And his dad and Isabelle and Rachel and Santana. “I’ll be better when I get you home to my place though.”

Blaine gives him a look that Kurt’s whole body associates with sex.

“Want to blow it off?” Blaine says. “Skip all the critics and the Broadway elite and take this straight to your bedroom.” His eyes twinkle. He knows Kurt, knows he would never just go home, even for sex. “I have some ideas for opening night that I think you’ll enjoy.”

Kurt laughs. He feels the tension ease from his shoulders. “I’ll bet you do. Let’s get this happening then. Unique?” he interrupts Rachel. “I think it’s time to get out there. Our public needs us.”

Unique looks over. “Have you got somewhere special to be, Kurt Hummel?”

“That he does,” says Blaine cheerfully. Unique rolls her eyes affectionately at them.

On the way out of the dressing room, Kurt gives Blaine a quick kiss. “I love you,” he says quietly. “So much.”

They say it all the time. It still means everything.


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt stamps the snow off his boots and steps inside the cabin.He places the last of the groceries on the table and turns to close the door. The fire he lit earlier is glowing cheerfully and the cabin’s walls keep the winter outside. Steve twines her way about Kurt’s legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s come back to stay at the cabin. It isn’t even the first time he’s brought only the cat for company. It is the first winter, though, since Blaine crash landed into his life. So the snow, the jackets, the fire, everything brings his mind straight back to Blaine.

Of course, he doesn’t mind. Blaine is back in New York. He’s predictably wonderful in “Oklahoma!”, showing his range and all of Curly’s confidence and charm. He’s been praised by critics, even more by the audiences who adore him. There are two more shows and a pre-Christmas matinee before he’ll drive up to the cabin and to Kurt.

Kurt packs away the groceries with care. He turns on the stereo. He makes coffee and takes it to the window, where he leans against the frame to look over the long view: the snow and dark trees, the mountains behind. The peaks make a clean, crooked line against the bright sky.

It’s a view that has never failed to give him pleasure. Kurt loves living back in New York, loves living with Blaine. He’s happier than he thought he would ever be again. But he welcomes this place with its space and its solitude all the way to his bones.

The music shifts to Nick Drake. Kurt almost calls Blaine. But they'll talk later, curled in bed and both facing the space where the other would ordinarily be. For now he sings along.

_But now you're here  
[Brighten my northern sky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3jCFeCtSjk)._

Later tonight he’ll put on his jacket and scarf and head out onto the deck to watch the stars rise. He has even more reason to watch them out here where he can. When they head back to New York for the new year he’ll be rehearsing “Seven Hunters” - multiple interconnected stories of the constellation Orion, gathered from multiple ancient and modern traditions. The musical is complex, the character blazingly fierce and not always attractive. The plans for the set are extraordinary.

Blaine, of course, is giddy with the possibilities. He believes in the theater in a way that seems to make everyone around him believe in it too. He also believes in Kurt. Seemingly endlessly.

“This role is going to take you all the way, Kurt,” he said with certainty. “All the way to your Tony.” He said it over and over until Kurt kissed him quiet, smiling against his lips.

Still, it is exciting. They’re starting off-Broadway, but they’re in discussions with Broadway landlords who have vacancies later in the year. More than that the role is powerful and intriguing. It was written with a countertenor in mind. It will be gratifying to extend himself vocally and emotionally in rehearsal. And then he’ll be back on the stage.

“Okay ma’am,” he says to Steve. “Do you want to help me make the gravy stock and stuffing?” Steve eyes him. “You’ll love it,” he assures her.

There’s plenty to do in the next few days. He wants to check in with Rick and Aisling, who’ve taken over his garden - find out what they want planted for the next season. He’ll make sure the garage and shed and all his tools are still in mint condition. He’ll get some wood chopped. And there’s cooking. They’re expecting six for Christmas dinner. Kurt’s dad and Carole are staying at a local bed and breakfast. Blaine’s parents are coming over from Phoenicia. And Katey and Shay are dropping by.

The place will be full of people they love. Full to the brim. But just for the day. Then everyone will go home. Then the cabin will be his and Blaine’s again. And at night the two of them will be alone. They’ll tumble up to the loft to celebrate their anniversary and all the myriad of ways they connect, through skin and mouths and hands and words and eyes.

Kurt’s going to chop enough wood that they can stay inside for three days.

**

On Christmas Eve Blaine leaves for the cabin directly from the matinee. He texts Kurt as he climbs into the car. “On my way. Expect me at 8. I love you.” Kurt will worry, is never not going to worry, but he probably won’t tell Blaine about it. Anyway they have a sensible car now. A used SUV with snow tires and fog lights and emergency supplies in the trunk. It has a surprisingly good sound system too.

It’s a bright evening, even in New York. It’s cold, Kurt’s told him there’s snow on the mountains, but there’s no sign of a storm. Blaine merges onto the West Side highway and drives north out of the city.

He’s put together a Beatles playlist for the drive. The Beatles would make anyone smile. And Blaine’s heading to the cabin, heading to Kurt. He is planning to enjoy this.

_[Nothing you can do that can’t be done](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsPVCrV94RQ). Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung._

It’s strange to be driving this road alone and so close to Christmas. It’s doesn’t count as deja vu when he knows he’s been here before. He can’t help but wonder what would have happened had the weather been as clear as this last year, had he driven safely to his parent’s house then safely home to Knox.

Blaine knows he’s changed. He’s the same person but he feels more certain in himself, and with that the world has opened up in new ways. He has fears and opportunities he hadn’t dreamed of twelve months ago.

He likes to think that even without Kurt he might have come to this, though, to be fair without the impetus of falling abruptly and transformingly in love it might have taken a lot longer.

More than that, he likes to think he’d have met Kurt anyway - bumped into him outside his local Catskills bakery, met him returning to New York for an audition, turned at the sound of a beautiful voice speaking French during a visit to the Arc de Triomphe. Whatever universe they were in, whatever life they lived.

He likes to think it was fate.

He sings at the top of his voice through the open window.

_Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game. It's easy._

The stars appear as he travels further, brightening in the night sky. When Blaine rounds the final bends he can see the cabin across the snow. Kurt’s turned on the outside lights and the place is ablaze with welcome.


End file.
